The Girl on the Cliff (19 page)

‘You made it
yourself
?’

‘Yes.’

‘I know you’ve always been handy with the needle, but that looks like the real thing!’ Nancy said admiringly. ‘Can you make one for me?’

‘I’m sure I could, if you tell me what colour you’d be wanting it in.’

‘How about scarlet? Would it suit my complexion?’ She patted her blonde curls.

‘I think that’d suit you well,’ Mary agreed. ‘I’d have to charge you for the material, mind.’

‘Of course. And your time. So how much?’

Mary thought. ‘Well now, I’d say it would be ten shillings for the material, and then a few bob for the making of it …’

‘Done!’ Nancy clapped her hands together. ‘Sam’s
taking me out next Thursday. And I think he’s going to propose. Can it be made by then?’

‘A week …’ Mary thought about it. ‘I don’t see why not.’

‘Oh, Mary, thank you! You are a star, girl, you really are.’

The Red Coat, as Mary would always remember it, marked a turning point in her life. Nancy showed it off to her friends and soon they were all clamouring at Mary’s door to ask if she could make one for them too. Even Sheila, the girl who lived next door and worked in one of the smart department stores near Piccadilly, had commented on Mary’s coat in the street, and asked her to make one. Sheila came up one evening for a fitting and the two girls chatted over a cup of tea afterwards.

‘You should set up as a proper dressmaker, Mary. You have real talent.’

‘Thank you, but I’d say is it right to make a business of something that you enjoy?’

‘Of course it is! I have lots of friends who’d be willing to pay for you to make them the latest styles. We all know what they charge in the shops.’

‘Yes.’ Mary was leaning out of the window, looking down at the young man standing under the lamp post, snug in his black wool coat. ‘Do you know who
he
is?’

Sheila came to the window and looked down.

‘My landlord told me his girl used to live here before the war, when she was training to be a nurse at St Thomas’s hospital. She was trampled on by a terrified horse at the Somme and died. And he came back with shell-shock, poor love.’ Sheila sighed. ‘Out of the two of them, I think
I’d be her. At least she doesn’t have to suffer any more. Not like him; reliving the horror day after day.’

‘Does he have a home?’

‘Apparently his family is very well-to-do. He lives with his godmother, just up the road in Kensington. She took him in when his parents refused to. Poor chap, what kind of future can he look forward to?’

‘I really don’t know,’ Mary sighed, feeling guilty and churlish for ever feeling sorry for herself in the past few weeks. ‘It must somehow comfort him, being here. And in this life, we must take our comfort wherever we find it.’

Mary had been at Colet Gardens for almost three and a half months. Her days were now taken up with customers, sewing the coats, blouses, skirts and dresses they were ordering. She was considering taking on an assistant, and moving to a larger set of rooms so one could be dedicated to her work. Even though she was busy, with less time to think, her pen often itched to start a letter to her darling Anna. To tell her how she’d been forced to leave her, that she loved her more than anything and thought of her every day. But she knew, for Anna’s sake, it was best she kept silent.

Time no longer hung in Mary’s hands like an empty void; but her heart, lacking someone to pour her love into, was numb and closed. Yet whenever she was in danger of becoming self-pitying, all she had to do was look below her at the poor young man standing by the lamp post.

As Christmas approached and her customers demanded their clothes be ready beforehand, Mary had no time to wonder how she’d feel spending it without Anna. Nancy
had invited Mary over to spend Christmas day at Cadogan House.

‘It’ll be the last one there for all of us,’ Nancy had said. ‘We’re all on a month’s notice – got to leave in January after the house has been closed up. I’m sure that snotty cow would have had us out on the streets before Christmas if she could, but luckily there was things to do.’

‘Has she left for Bangkok?’ enquired Mary.

‘Yes, last month. And did we throw a party in the kitchen! Anyway, me and Sam have got ourselves fine jobs working as housekeeper and butler in Belgravia. The day I step out of that kitchen, I won’t be looking back. It’s that poor little girl I feel sorry for. She’s been expecting to come home for Christmas. It does make you wonder how people can be so cruel, doesn’t it, Mary? And men so blind as to fall for it,’ Nancy added.

Mary stayed up the whole night before Christmas Eve to make sure her customers received their clothes on time. At four the following afternoon, all her orders collected, she sank exhausted into the armchair by the fire. She was awoken by a soft knocking on her door.

‘Hello?’

‘It’s me, Sheila, from next door. You’ve got a visitor.’

Mary roused herself from her chair and walked over to let her in. And could hardly believe her eyes when she saw who was standing next to Sheila, looking pale and anxious.

‘Mary!’ Anna threw herself into Mary’s arms, hugging her so tightly the breath almost left her.

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Anna, what are you doing here? How did you find me?’

‘You know her then?’ Sheila smiled. ‘Found her like a waif and stray, sitting on your doorstep.’

‘Oh yes, I know her. She’s my Anna, aren’t you, pet?’ Mary’s eyes were full of tears as she looked down at Anna’s beloved face.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. Seems like your Christmas present has just arrived, Mary.’

‘To be sure, it has.’

Mary smiled, then shut the door, walked Anna over to the chair and sat her down. ‘Now, tell me exactly what you’re doing here. I thought you were meant to be at school?’

‘I w-was … I am. But –’ Anna’s face set a determined line – ‘I’ve run away and I’m n-never, ever g-going back.’

‘Now, now, Anna, pet, don’t be saying such silliness. Surely you don’t mean it?’

‘I do, I mean every w-word. And if you try and make me I shall simply r-run away again. Th-the headmistress is hateful, the g-girls are hateful! They make me r-run around playing something called lacrosse, which is b-bad for my knees and more hateful th-than anything! Oh, Mary!’ Anna buried her head in her hands. ‘I’ve b-been so miserable. I was l-living for the Christmas hols, and seeing you and everyone else at C-Cadogan House, and then the headmistress called me into her office and t-told me I wouldn’t be going home. That Aunt had gone to B-Bangkok with Uncle and the house had b-been closed up. Mary,
please
don’t make me go b-back to that terrible place, p-please.’

At that, Anna’s last reserves left her and she burst into tears.

Mary settled the child on her knees, and Anna leant herself against her chest, pouring out her dreadful stories of loneliness, abandonment and misery.

When she was calmer, Mary spoke to her softly. ‘Anna, we must let the headmistress know as soon as possible that you’re safe. She’ll be having half the country’s police force out by now, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘I only r-ran away this morning,’ Anna pouted, ‘and Mrs G-Grix, the headmistress, has gone away to stay with her sister in J-Jersey for Christmas. She left me with Matron, who drinks so much g-gin she sees two of me, rather than none of me.’

Mary couldn’t help but smile at Anna’s turn of phrase. ‘Well now, we must at least contact Matron, then. We don’t want to be causing anyone a worry, do we now? However we might feel, it just isn’t right, Anna.’

‘As long as you p-promise not to say where I am. They might c-come to get me and I am not g-going back. I’d rather die.’

Mary knew the child was completely exhausted and there was no arguing with her tonight. ‘I will only say you have turned up at Cadogan House safe and sound, and that we will be in contact with her after Christmas. How about that?’

This seemed to pacify Anna, who nodded, albeit reluctantly.

‘Now then, you look to me as though you could do with a bath. It’d be not quite what you’re used to in Cadogan House, but at least you’ll be clean, pet.’

Mary led Anna to the communal bathroom down the corridor and filled the tub. As she scrubbed the child, Mary asked how she’d managed to find her way to London and then on to her in Colet Gardens.

‘It was easy,’ Anna replied. ‘I knew where the station was because we’d been on a day trip to London once b-before to see St Paul’s C-Cathedral. So I sneaked out of the school and walked. Then I g-got on a train, which took me to a big station called Waterloo. I caught a bus to Sloane Square and walked the rest of the way to Cadogan House, then Mrs Carruthers put me in a taxi to bring me to you.’

‘But, Anna, you’d been told that the house had been closed up. What were you going to do if no one was there?’ Mary helped Anna out of the bath and wrapped her in a towel.

‘I hadn’t really thought that f-far,’ Anna admitted. ‘I knew the latch on the kitchen window was b-broken, so I could easily have opened it and climbed through. But Mrs Carruthers was there and t-told me where you lived.’

Mary looked at Anna in admiration, despite her anxiety about what she had done. The little girl that had left her four months ago had grown up. And shown the kind of initiative and backbone Mary hadn’t known she possessed.

‘Now then,’ Mary said as she led Anna back down the corridor to her room. ‘I’m going to tuck you up in bed then I’m going to go downstairs to ask if I may borrow my landlord’s telephone. I’ll speak to Mrs Carruthers at Cadogan House and tell her she must call matron at the school immediately to say that you’re safe and sound.’ Mary saw Anna’s anxious face. ‘And no, we won’t tell her
you are here with me. Besides,’ Mary comforted herself as much as Anna, ‘we’ll be going there tomorrow for Christmas lunch.’

Anna’s face brightened considerably. ‘Really? How l-lovely. I’ve missed everyone very much.’

Mary watched as Anna’s head sank against the pillows and her eyelids began to droop.

‘You sleep, pet, and we’ll wake up to Christmas in the morning.’

Back at Cadogan House, small gifts for Anna had been hastily collected by the servants. When they arrived the following morning, Anna was greeted with affection and excitement by the six remaining members of staff. Mrs Carruthers, as was her custom on Christmas Day, cooked lunch for them all. After Anna had opened the gifts, they sat down in the kitchen to enjoy a goose with all the trimmings. At the end of the lunch, Nancy stood up and proudly showed off a sparkling gemstone on the fourth finger of her left hand. ‘I’d like to announce that Sam and me, well, we’ve decided to tie the knot.’

The news was cause for a toast. Sam was dispatched downstairs to the cellar to procure a bottle of port with which to make it.

After everyone had chipped in to clear up, Nancy, with a gleam in her eye, suggested they went up to the drawing room and play charades.

‘Oh, y-yes!’ Anna clapped her hands together. ‘I love charades. Let’s go!’

As they climbed the stairs up to the ground floor, Mary said, ‘Do you really think us lot should be playing games in
their
drawing room?’

‘Who’s here to stop us?!’ Mrs Carruthers, tipsy on gin and port, gave a snort. ‘And besides, we have the young
lady of the house with us, and she has invited us in, haven’t you, Anna?’

At eight o’clock, after a raucous game of charades, everyone walked back down the staircase to the kitchen, feeling exhausted and content.

Mrs Carruthers turned to Mary. ‘Will you and Anna be staying here tonight?’

‘I hadn’t thought about it,’ said Mary honestly.

‘Well now, why don’t you put her in her old room, then come downstairs and have a chat with me. I’ll make us a nice brew.’

Mary agreed, and took a weary Anna upstairs to her old bedroom.

‘Oh! I’ve had such a lovely day, it’s been one of the b-best Christmases ever!’ Anna sighed with pleasure as Mary tucked her in.

‘I’m glad you have, pet. ’Twas certainly better than I was expecting myself. Goodnight, sleep tight.’

‘Goodnight, Mary. Mary?’

‘Yes, pet?’

‘You and Nancy and Sam and Mrs Carruthers … you’re my f-family, aren’t you?’

‘I’d like to think so, pet, I’d like to think so,’ said Mary softly as she left the room.

‘So now, what are we to do about the young miss upstairs, then?’ asked Mrs Carruthers as Mary settled herself at the kitchen table and sipped her tea.

‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ Mary sighed.

‘Of course, what we should do is send a telegram to
Mr and Mrs Lisle, saying that Anna has turned up here.’

‘Yes, we should,’ agreed Mary. ‘But, well now, the thing is, I’ve made a promise to Anna that she never has to go back to that school. I’d have a worry that if we
did
take her back there, she’d only run away again.’

‘True,’ agreed Mrs Carruthers, ‘true. Maybe we could speak to the master, tell him how unhappy Anna is at the school, and see what ideas he has.’

‘And how will we get past the mistress?’ Mary rolled her eyes.

‘You just have to hope to be lucky and speak to the master. Could you send him a telegram directly?’

‘Even if Mrs Lisle didn’t intercept it, he’d talk to her about it. And she would say Anna must be returned to the school as soon as possible.’

‘Well, I’m sure I don’t know what the solution is,’ Mrs Carruthers sighed. ‘That poor child has been abandoned by the very person who promised to protect her. And I can hardly bear to witness it.’

‘I know. And I mustn’t abandon her too.’ Mary took another sip of tea and breathed slowly. ‘She’s told me stories of the bullying and the way the teachers all turned a blind eye. She says besides everyone knowing she’s an orphan, they’re after teasing her about her stammer. What can I do to help her?’ Mary implored.

‘I don’t know tonight, dear, I really don’t. But I’m fond of Anna too and the last thing I want to see is that poor little’un suffering. Tell you what, let’s have a night’s sleep, then put our heads together tomorrow morning and see what we can come up with.’

‘You know I’ll do anything to protect her, don’t you?’ said Mary.