‘I hope you don’t mind us coming today. We weren’t sure …’ Bel’s voice was full of uncertainty, although what she and Joe had come here to do today, they could not be more certain of.
‘No, no, please, come in, we are always open.’ The head of the orphanage ushered them in from the cold and closed the door.
‘Did you know today is St Stephen’s Day?’ the old woman asked. ‘Some call it the Feast of St Stephen.’
Bel and Joe shook their heads.
‘St Stephen was the first Christian martyr. So, this is in fact a saint’s day, the second day of Christmas,’ she said, swishing past them. ‘Follow me. We’ll go to my office. It’s nice and warm there and we can talk in private.’
Bel and Joe followed the matron, who walked surprisingly quickly for her age and her size, down the long hallway and into a large office that could only be described as chaotic. There were books everywhere, files and documents spread out across her mahogany desk, and, as promised, a roaring fire.
She bustled over and gave it a hearty prod.
‘Please, sit down, make yourselves comfortable.’ She gestured towards two leather armchairs in front of her desk.
Joe waited for Bel to unbutton her coat and sit down before he eased himself into the chair with the aid of his stick.
‘It’s Mr and Mrs Elliot, isn’t it?’
‘It is.’ Joe pushed himself back up and offered his hand to the matron, who returned a firm handshake.
Seeing the couple’s surprise that she knew who they were, she explained.
‘I know your mother, Joseph.’
Bel looked at her husband. She didn’t think she had ever heard anyone call him by his proper Christian name.
The matron turned her attention to Bel and took her hand in her own.
‘And you, my dear, are Isabelle Elliot. Formerly Isabelle Hardwick.’
For the first time Bel didn’t recoil at being called Isabelle. Nor did she feel ashamed of being a Hardwick.
‘I know of both families quite well,’ she said, clasping her hands together and placing them on top of her desk. ‘When you barely venture outside the east end and you get to be my age, there’s not many families you don’t know.’
Bel was glad to see there was no judgement in her words or tone.
‘I would say how can I help you? But I think I can guess.’
Bel smiled. Joe took hold of her hand and squeezed it.
The old woman pulled out a file from under a mound of papers on her desk and opened it. She took out an official-looking form and handed it to Joe. Then she yanked at her top drawer, retrieved two pens and handed them to the couple she had no doubt would make wonderful parents.
She should know. She had seen them grow up. Knew that Isabelle had not had the easiest of upbringings and had been widowed and married within a year. She’d heard the gossip doing the rounds at the time.
‘Cup of tea?’ she asked, getting up and going over to a pot by the fire.
‘No thank you,’ Bel said. Joe shook his head. He handed the form to his wife to fill in. She was, after all, a secretary with a certificate in shorthand and typing to her name.
By the time the matron had finished her tea, and some leftover Christmas cake, Bel and Joe were signing the bottom of the form and handing it back to her.
‘So, what happens now?’ Bel asked.
As though in answer to her question they heard an ear-splitting cry. It was shortly followed by another cry, equally ear-splitting.
Bel started to get up out of her chair. It was her instinctive reaction on hearing a baby cry.
‘Would you like to see our two new admissions?’ the matron said. ‘Although you might need some earplugs. They’ve been crying their little hearts out since they were brought to us.’
Bel and Joe followed the old woman out of the office.
‘They came to us in the early hours,’ she informed them, shuffling down the corridor, ‘and they’ve already sent a couple of the nurses doolally.’
Walking into the nursery, Bel spotted two nurses both trying desperately to shush and calm their tiny charges.
‘Do you mind?’ Bel asked as she reached the first nurse.
‘Not at all,’ the young girl said, the relief on her face showing that she meant every word.
The matron and Joe watched as Bel swayed the crying newborn in her arms, whispering love into the little girl’s ear. After a few minutes the crying started to splutter to a stop, and as one baby stopped sobbing so did the other.
The nurse with the second baby looked at Joe and held the baby out. Joe hobbled forward and took the baby in his arms, breathing a sigh of relief that it did not start crying again.
Now that she could hear herself speak, the matron told the nurses to go and get themselves a cup of tea.
‘The mother died in childbirth,’ she told Bel and Joe. ‘She might have survived if she’d managed to get herself to hospital, but it was too late,’ she said sadly.
‘And the father?’ Joe asked.
‘Like your brother, Edward –’ again the matron threw Bel by using Teddy’s full name ‘– he died out in North Africa. Although not on land, but at sea. Which is why they’ve been brought here.’
Bel looked at the baby Joe was holding. A boy.
‘So, they’re twins?’ Bel asked.
‘They are indeed,’ the matron said. ‘But unfortunately, as one is a girl, we’re going to have to split them up.’
Bel and Joe knew that the orphanage had been built for the sons of lost seamen, with the aim of training the boys they took in to become seamen themselves.
‘No room at the inn for the little girl, I’m afraid,’ the old woman said. ‘Her gender dictates.’
‘Well, there’s room enough in our house for them both, isn’t there?’ Bel glanced up at Joe, who nodded and smiled his agreement.
The matron eyed the young couple. For once it would seem He’d listened to her and she’d been granted her Christmas wish.
Bel looked at Joe; her eyes were bright and brimming with tears.
‘Looks like Agnes was right after all,’ she said.