November gave way to December and, as it did, Angela felt the familiar unhappiness settling on her heart about the child she had left behind in the workhouse. Maggie seemed to think it was good news that her daughter would be moved to an orphanage in the New Year, but Angela hadn’t any great hopes that an orphanage would be a whole lot better than the workhouse and it was very hard for her to not even know where in the city the child might be living. Still, there was nothing she could do about any of it and, as Christmas was approaching, she would have to pretend happiness and excitement for Connie’s sake. Relations with her eldest daughter had improved somewhat, but the closeness between them had been damaged. Angela knew that was entirely her fault and so she had to fix it.
However, her youngest daughter wasn’t in any orphanage or workhouse. Angela had not been the only one dismayed at the council’s decision to empty the workhouse and extend the General Hospital, for Father John was upset too. Though he agreed the city’s poor needed better and more medical facilities, after hearing the confession of the woman who’d come to his church that day, the orphan Chrissie Foley had preyed on his mind and he had plans concerning the child. After the woman had come to his confessional box, he’d made discreet enquiries about the child left on the steps of the workhouse. Benedict Masters, the governor of the workhouse, told him that, while the children in his care were not encouraged to consider themselves as special or in any way different to other children, Chrissie Foley was indeed a naturally kind and helpful child and was no trouble, unlike some of the others who kicked out at the dreadful restrictions placed upon them. The meals they ate were plain and tasteless at best, they were allowed no play or enjoyment, just sewing or mending tasks when they were not at their lessons. Father John knew that things were better for orphans than they had been when he was a young man, and workhouses would soon be a thing of the past completely, but there were still some like this one that took in the poor, the infirm and the destitute as well as poor mites who had no one, like Chrissie.
He’d intended to talk to his sister about having the girl to live with them when she was twelve and ready for outside work, but he couldn’t wait for that now.
So, one evening in early December after a delicious evening meal, Father John told Eileen he wanted to talk to her. Without any preamble, he went straight into his plans for bringing the foundling Chrissie Foley to live with them.
Eileen was astounded. It was so unexpected. ‘And what d’you think she would do here?’ she asked.
‘I thought you could perhaps train her up to be a lady’s maid or something.’
Eileen laughed at her brother. ‘Of course I couldn’t,’ she said. ‘I don’t know the slightest thing about being a lady’s maid.’
‘Well then, could you have her in the kitchen with you?’ John asked. ‘You could teach her to cook maybe, then you could take life a bit easier.’
Eileen fastened her eagle eyes on her brother as she snapped out, ‘John, I am not in my dotage yet.’
‘I didn’t suggest you were,’ John said.
‘Why does this child mean so much to you?’
‘You know why,’ the priest said. ‘I spoke to her mother in confession and so the child should at least be reared as a Catholic as she had a Catholic mother. But that apart, this child will have no one. She has a mother, but one who can’t acknowledge her, so she will grow up all her life without knowing a mother’s love. She might have a family who will never know of her existence.’
‘John, surely she isn’t the only child like that.’
‘Maybe not,’ Father John acknowledged. ‘But because of her mother’s confession I sort of feel I know this child. I know from what she said that she was no willing party to what happened to her – and yes, before you say anything, I know that that is not a completely rare occurrence either. The point is, I might have been very like Chrissie when our mother died just after I was born, but you were there to care for me and love me and always support me.’
There were tears in Eileen’s eyes, for she had indeed tended for her baby brother. There had been no one else, just a rake of older brothers who were more of a hindrance than a help and a father so destroyed with grief he had turned to the bottle and was drink-sodden more often than not. John would have had a poor rearing if she hadn’t stepped in.
‘I’ve always appreciated what you did for me,’ John said. ‘Because of you, I was given a chance to do what I wanted in life. I wanted to do the same for Chrissie, redress the balance a little, but perhaps I am asking too much of you …’
‘How old is the child?’ Eileen asked.
‘Almost eleven,’ Father John answered. ‘I’ve had this in mind for some time, but I wanted to wait until she was twelve. But now, with the closure of the workhouse, by the time Chrissie is twelve she could be anywhere in the city and hard to even trace.’
‘Oh, I can see that,’ Eileen said. ‘If she is coming, it will have to be now, but will they allow you to remove a child just like that?’
‘She is in the care of the workhouse to all intents and purposes, but they will want to send her out into the world in a few years to earn her own keep. Perhaps they’d send her to one of the mills or to work in service,’ Father John said. ‘Even if they really want rid of her because that would mean one less to worry about, they would probably need to ascertain that she was coming to a respectable home and that I have no intention of syphoning her off to the white slave trade.’
‘John, really!’
Father John grinned. ‘I’m sure you can be a hard taskmaster but not that bad … maybe! Well, I think Benedict Masters, the governor, can vouch for the fact I won’t be into any of that sort of thing. I have got to know the man very well over the years, tending to the Catholics in there, and he is a reasonable man, though he can do nothing to ease the grim interior or the austere life of drudgery many of the inmates are subjected to. He said a few years ago he went to the trustees cap in hand to ask for the allowance for food to be increased, at least for the children, but he was refused. And he said it wouldn’t have been so bad but the trustees seem remarkably well fed. Every one of them is plump and portly and when they have a trustees’ dinner they are veritable banquets, very lavish, with the very best of food or drink. Yet they wouldn’t increase the food bill one brass farthing. He was very frustrated about it, but stays on because he thinks they are better treated with him there rather than somebody more corrupt.’
‘I would be concerned too,’ Eileen said. ‘Any time you spot a workhouse child they look half starved. The first thing I shall have to do with this Chrissie Foley is feed her up, I imagine.’
‘Feed her up,’ Father John repeated. ‘You mean …?’
‘I mean we’ll have the girl here if it means so much to you,’ said Eileen. ‘And I would see about it as soon as possible, or they might ship her out regardless.’
‘I will go early tomorrow,’ Father John promised.
So early the next morning, the priest sat on the other side of the desk from the workhouse governor and told him he wished to offer a home to Chrissie Foley. Benedict Masters’ mouth dropped open in surprise for he had never had a request like that in his life before. Eventually he recovered himself and said, ‘Why would you want to do that?’
‘Without betraying my vows, I can only tell you Chrissie’s mother came to me in confession two years ago and admitted abandoning Chrissie Foley, who was conceived because of a violent attack made upon her.’
‘Did you recognise the voice of this woman?’
The priest shook his head. ‘And that means she wasn’t one of my parishioners and the child should have been brought up a Catholic. She tried to leave her in a Catholic orphanage, but they couldn’t take any more. She said normally they had plenty of childless couples ready and willing to adopt a child, but due to the war and the men being away – and some women being widowed, I suppose – adoptions had dropped right off. They were full to bursting with children they couldn’t place already and could take no more.’
‘And you have no idea who this woman was?’
‘None,’ the priest said. ‘I asked her to stay but when I left the confessional she had fled.’
‘But even if you did speak to the mother, you are not responsible for her child.’
‘I know, but wanting to do something for this child is linked to my past. I could have ended up in a similar position when my mother died when I was born if it hadn’t been for my sister Eileen. Surely it is for us to emulate God’s grace and do what we can for the needy.’
‘And is your sister in favour of this?’
‘She is, yes.’
‘You do realise this would not be countenanced, a man alone taking a young girl into his home, even if the man was a priest, unless your sister was there in residence too?’
‘I understand that perfectly,’ Father John said.
‘As it is, well, I will put it to the trustees but I can’t foresee any problem.’
‘Should we ask the child?’
‘No need,’ Benedict Masters said. ‘You are offering her an opportunity to better herself and that is something few foundlings are given. How she feels about it is irrelevant.’
Father John would have preferred to see the child and explain things to her, but he was unable to do that. So the first she knew about it was when Mr Masters told her that she would be leaving the following day to live with the priest.
She knew the priest – that is, she knew what he looked like, but had no idea what he was like as a person or what it would be like to live with him. In her young life she had met few kind people, but many nasty, cruel ones, and she trembled in fear that Father John might be the same.
The priest had an interview with the trustees about his application. On Masters’ instruction, he said not a word about confession or any contact with the mother. He just said his sister wasn’t as young as she was and if she had a young girl from the workhouse she would be sent to school and learn to keep house and cook and so on, so that she would be ready for a life in service when the time came. Mr Masters recommended the girl Chrissie Foley, as she had no family whatsoever.
The trustees thought it an admirable arrangement. Father John was well-liked and respected and they fully approved of him being the young foundling’s guardian.
‘But the Welfare Department need to speak with your sister,’ the senior trustee said. ‘Stuff and nonsense of course, but there you are. They need to see if your sister is agreeable and the set-up in the house, where the girl will sleep and all.’
Therefore Eileen was expecting the visit and had no trouble showing them the bedroom she had ready for the child. She could see they were impressed.
‘And what will her duties be?’ one of them asked.
‘Schoolwork,’ Eileen said sharply. ‘Chrissie’s not quite eleven years old so she still has three years of school.’
‘I understood you needed her help in the house,’ one of the female trustees said and Eileen remembered that’s what her brother had told them.
‘I have arthritis,’ she said truthfully enough. ‘It’s not too bad yet but will worsen with time and one day I might be immensely grateful for a young girl’s help. By then hopefully she’ll know how to do most household tasks because we’ll do them together and she will learn from me. But she will not be expected to work long, exhausting hours, or do anything that might affect her schoolwork. I will teach her at home at first as I want to fill any gaps in her education so that she will not be that far behind when she does go to school.’
The two female trustees nodded, because they knew if children could write their name and reckon up to ten or twenty, that was considered more than adequate for a child from the workhouse.
And yet one added with a slight sniff, ‘Very commendable I’m sure, but it wouldn’t do to give this girl ideas above her station.’
Eileen was suddenly furious, but she swallowed her anger, knowing it wouldn’t help her case to allow them to annoy her.
One of the others said, ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I think that young girl is very lucky coming here to live in this comfortable house with people who care what happens to her.’
Eileen let out the breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding as another said, ‘May I say, I respect both you and your brother offering this foundling a second chance. We will certainly approve your application and our report to the trustees will definitely be positive.’
‘Thank you,’ Eileen said fervently.
Two days later Father John received a stamped official letter approving their application to be a guardian of a foundling child of no known parentage, known as Christine Foley. The letter instructed him to make arrangements with the workhouse for the child’s removal.
‘Like she was some sort of parcel,’ Father John complained.
Eileen shrugged. ‘It’s just how they word official documents,’ she said. ‘But what the words say is more important than the way it is phrased.’
Father John said nothing more, knowing his sister was right. Only a couple of days later he went to bring Chrissie to her new home. She was in the reception area and Father John glimpsed her through the window. She was dressed in a threadbare coat that was much too small for her, boots that had seen better days and no socks.
He followed Masters to the small annexe of the office. One wall was lined with shelves and, sat alone on one of the shelves, was a cardboard suitcase.
‘Her other clothes are in here,’ Mr Masters said, pulling the case out, and Father John hoped heartily they were better ones than those she had on. ‘The Sunday clothes the children wear for church have not been included, nor the uniform they wear in here. She would hardly want them anyway as they would mark her out as a workhouse waif. I should think she would want to do all in her power to forget she was ever in this place.’
‘I would in her shoes,’ the priest said in agreement. ‘Where are her other things?’
‘Well, she hasn’t much more,’ Benedict Masters said. ‘It all went into the case. She has her toothbrush, hairbrush and hand mirror, which all the inmates have. Oh, and a birth certificate of sorts. I hadn’t her mother or her father’s name, nor even her actual date of birth, but she had to be registered in some way and I just gave the day she was left at the workhouse.’
‘I understand,’ Father John said. ‘Now, I just need the locket that you showed me before.’
For a split second Masters’ face was blank and then he said, ‘Goodness me, of course, the locket. I keep that in a strong box in the safe in the office. Just a minute.’
Father John waited with no sense of unease and then Masters came in holding a metal box in his hands.
‘It’s gone,’ he said to Father John. ‘It’s disappeared. I kept it in this box and it’s empty.’
Father John was furious. ‘You’re lying to me,’ he cried. ‘You’ve sold it like the trustees wanted you to initially!’
‘No, no,’ Masters said. ‘I swear to you I know nothing about this disappearance. The trustees would have forgotten all about wanting to sell it now. I had almost forgotten it was there myself.’
‘Someone evidently hadn’t,’ Father John said. His voice shook with anger and sadness as he went on, ‘It was all she had – no parents, no family, just a silver locket given to her by her mother. It was to show she loved her although she couldn’t care for her. That’s what she told me in confession. Do you see what a boost that would give to this poor destitute child?’
‘Father John, I am heart-sore about it myself,’ Masters said. ‘And I will try my damnedest – beg your pardon, Father – to get to the bottom of this. All I am grateful for is that we didn’t ever mention it to her so she knows nothing about it.’
Father John knew though and felt dispirited about the whole thing and wasn’t at all sure he trusted Benedict Masters. The governor understood how the priest felt and, though he had nothing to do with the theft of it, he felt responsible because he didn’t always lock the safe when he left the room. Just lately a number of things had gone missing as well – a silver snuff box, a rather nice cigarette case, a pendant and ring had disappeared from the rooms belonging to various members of staff – though as yet he hadn’t informed the police. But it was true what he had told the priest: he had almost forgotten about the locket and, as the other missing items had disappeared from the staffroom, he hadn’t thought to check the locket was safe. He would have to get to the bottom of the thefts and stop ignoring them.
Father John’s despondency lifted slightly when he entered the reception room and saw the child properly for the first time. This was no time to think of himself, for the young girl was so frightened and nervous, it was seeping through the pores of her skin, and he felt his stomach lurch in sympathy.
He had also never seen a child so still or so quiet. With bright blue and intelligent eyes, she was sitting so far back in the chair in her ill-fitting clothes that her legs didn’t reach the floor. They too were still and her hands were folded demurely in her lap, and she didn’t utter a sound or move a muscle, just as she hadn’t when he had glimpsed her through the window. Chrissie could have told the priest that was how you survived life in a workhouse – by making yourself as small and quiet as possible, as if you were invisible. You never spoke unless asked a question and then you answered as briefly as possible. You learned to sit as still as a mouse for long periods, but be ready to leap into action the moment you were asked to do something.
Father John’s heart was smote with pity for this child and he wondered if she looked like her mother. He put out his hand and said, ‘Let’s go home, Chrissie’, but she made no move towards him. She couldn’t ever remember holding someone’s hand.
Then Mr Masters said, ‘Go on, Chrissie. You will be living with Father John now’, and she knew the die was cast, her future was decided.
So she gave a little imperceptible sigh as she wriggled off the seat and took Father John’s hand. He picked up the case and they walked out of the workhouse together.