In the days that followed, Rita gradually settled into the strict routine at Laurel House. She was not happy, she still missed Mum and Gran desperately, but somehow she was not unhappy either. The rigid routine gave a framework to her days, which was oddly comforting. She quickly learned to keep her head down and conform to what was expected. Punishments were given for the most minor infringement of the rules, and there was nearly always someone sitting on one of the punishment chairs. Daisy and she had become firm friends, and this brought them to the attention of the staff, who frowned upon ‘particular friendships’, and when the chores rota was posted in the playroom, they found they were no longer paired to peel potatoes, or to scrub the bathrooms.
Daisy was picking blackcurrants, which caused her to scowl, especially as Rita was still picking gooseberries. ‘All right for some,’ she moaned. ‘Hate doing blackcurrants!’
‘I’ll probably get them next week,’ Rita said, hoping as she spoke that she wouldn’t be here next week.
‘Yeah, well,’ was all Daisy muttered as, hearing Mrs Smith coming out of the kitchen door, she scurried off to the blackcurrant bushes.
At school it was different. They played together in the playground, and when asked to get into pairs for any activity they always chose each other. Rita had never had such a close friend before. She’d known Maggie, down Ship Street, forever, their mothers were good friends too, but they had not been inseparable. Daisy, on the other hand, was Rita’s rock in the still-uncertain world of Laurel House, and her grip on their friendship was firm. And Daisy? Daisy had found a kindred spirit; from the moment that Rita had faced up to Sheila Nevin, Daisy had realized that Rita was different. The way she had stuck up for her sister had drawn Daisy to her, and from being a bit of a loner, Daisy finally found she had a friend.
Despite the growing friendship, however, Rita did not confide completely in Daisy; she did not tell Daisy where she slept each night. For every night she continued to slip out of her bed and creep along the landing to Green Dorm and Rosie. She and Rosie seldom had a chance to see each other during the day, but as soon as the house was quiet, Rita went to find her, each comforted by the familiar warmth of her sister, in the bed, beside her. Since Frances had caught her that first morning, Rita had been careful. She’d always managed to wake up before the rising bell, sliding quietly out of Rosie’s bed and tip-toeing back to her own, with no one the wiser.
‘You mustn’t tell no one that I come in,’ she warned Rosie. ‘The Dragon’ll be very cross if she finds out. OK?’
Rosie nodded solemnly. ‘I won’t tell,’ she said, adding, ‘I don’t like the Dragon, Reet. She’s scary!’
‘Yeah, I know. So don’t tell no one, or she’ll find out.’
It wasn’t the Dragon who found out, it was the Hawk.
One Friday night Rita had slipped out of Purple Dorm, and not closed the door properly behind her. Later that night Mrs Hawkins, coming along the landing on her way to her flat in the tower, noticed the door open and looked in. All was quiet, she heard nothing but the soft breathing of six little girls, asleep in bed. She paused by the door, and then flicked on her torch, flashing it round the peaceful dormitory until the beam fell on the bed by the window. It was empty. Whose bed was that? She turned her torch onto the dormitory list on the back of the door. Bed number 4. Rita Stevens. Rita Stevens was not in bed… so where was she?
Mrs Hawkins was about to wake the whole dorm to ask where Rita was, when she had a better idea. First she would go and see if Rosie Stevens was there. She turned back to Green Dorm and softly easing the door open she flashed her torch round the room. Rosie Stevens was asleep in her bed, but so was Rita.
Mrs Hawkins switched on the light and strode across to Rosie’s bed. With a grunt of anger, she threw back the covers, leaving the two little girls exposed, curled up in each other’s arms. Rita’s nightdress had ridden up, so that her bare seat was on view. The slap that resounded on her bottom and her cry of pain woke the rest of the dormitory.
‘Get out of that bed,’ Mrs Hawkins snarled, dealing out another slap. Rita leaped from the bed, the marks of the superintendent’s hand red on her pale skin, and Rosie began to cry.
The other children stared, round-eyed, as the Hawk aimed another blow at Rita before turning to the hysterical Rosie. ‘Be quiet, Rose, or you’ll get a hiding too.’ She turned back to Rita. ‘Get back to your own bed,’ she hissed. ‘I’ll deal with you in the morning.’
Rita fled and jumping into her bed, buried herself under the covers. Her bum hurt like fury, and she was humiliated that the ‘babies’ had seen her slapped like that. She could still hear Rosie’s wails until they stopped abruptly. The Hawk must have slapped her too, or terrified her into silence in some other way.
Purple Dorm was still and quiet. No one had heard the commotion from down the landing. Rita lay among the peacefully sleeping girls, the thin blanket over her head, shivering, waiting for the Hawk to call her out again, but she heard nothing and eventually she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
When she woke, it was still dark. The light from the street lamp filtered into the room and Rita lay looking at the ghostly shapes, her mind swirling with what had happened in Green Dorm. How had the Hawk found them? What had she done to Rosie, and what was going to happen to her?
I’ll deal with you in the morning! The Hawk’s words echoed in her brain. What was she going to do? What could she do? The more these thoughts churned in her mind, the more frightened Rita became.
When the rising bell rang, Rita felt almost sick with fear. She got out of bed and stripped it, but somehow she couldn’t move quickly enough. When it was time to go down for morning prayers and breakfast, though she was dressed, Rita’s bedclothes were still piled onto her stool.
‘Come on, Reet,’ hissed Daisy. ‘You’ll get us all into trouble.’ She pushed Rita aside and swiftly shook out the sheets and blanket, so that when the Dragon came into the room, Rita was just straightening her pillow, feeling the picture of Daddy safely in the pillowcase.
Matron made a quick inspection to see that each bed had the required hospital corners and then said, ‘You’re all behind in here. Hurry up and go down for prayers.’
The six girls scurried along the passage to the stairs, but as they passed Green Dorm, Rita glanced in. The room was empty, except for Rosie. Rosie was standing on her stool with her sheet draped over her head and round her shoulders. Rita stopped dead in her tracks.
‘Rosie?’ she said. ‘Rosie, what…?’
‘Come on.’ Daisy caught her hand and dragged her along the passage.
‘But Rosie—’ began Rita, trying to go back.
‘She’s wet her bed,’ said Daisy. ‘That’s all. Matron will make her stand there until after breakfast, and then she’ll have to wash the sheet. Come on, Reet,’ she insisted, ‘or we’re in trouble too.’
When Rita still held back Daisy said, ‘You can go back and help her after breakfast.’ But by the time breakfast was over, Rita was in no position to help her sister.
The Purples were the last into the playroom, reaching their usual place by the window only moments before Mrs Hawkins came in. She glanced round the room and for a moment her eyes rested on Rita, before she raised them to heaven and said, ‘Let us pray.’
When prayers came to an end, she looked round the room again allowing her gaze to fall on several girls before it finally fixed, once more, on Rita.
The inmates of Laurel House knew their superintendent well. They had recognized the signs. Someone was in deep trouble, and for an awful, long moment as the Hawk’s eyes roved the room, each wondered if she had strayed or failed in some way that she had forgotten.
‘Stand forward, Rita Stevens,’ said the Hawk at last. Even as Rita took a small step forward, she could feel the rest of the room relaxing round her. It was Rita, the new girl, who had transgressed.
‘This girl has broken one of our most important rules,’ the Hawk announced. ‘Last night, not only was she out of bed and out of her dormitory after lights out, she was in another dormitory and in another girl’s bed!’
There was an audible gasp from the assembled girls.
‘Please, Mrs Hawkins,’ began Rita, ‘it was my sister, Rosie’s, bed—’
‘Keep silence, girl,’ thundered the Hawk. ‘When I want you to speak I shall ask you to. It is forbidden to leave the dormitory at night for any reason. You are on punishment for the rest of today, Rita, and if I hear another back answer from you, it will be for the whole week. Do you understand?’ Rita, almost mesmerized by the superintendent’s glare, nodded.
‘Do you understand?’ The question was put even more loudly, and at a dig in the back from Daisy, Rita mumbled, ‘Yes, Mrs Hawkins.’
‘You will remain in this room while everyone goes to breakfast. I will send for you when I want you.’ With this the Hawk stalked from the room.
The rest of the girls filed out, and Rita was left standing by the window. She had no idea what being ‘on punishment’ meant, but clearly she was in for big trouble.
Some minutes later Sheila entered the room. ‘Mrs Hawkins says to come into the dining room.’ She smirked at Rita. ‘Not so brave now, are you, Rita Stevens? Not biting anyone today? Going to bite Mrs Hawkins?’ She took Rita by the arm and marched her into the dining room, saying, ‘Punishment chair in the far corner. There ain’t no breakfast for you today.’
Mrs Hawkins said grace and then everyone sat down to their breakfast. As it was Saturday it was eggs, collected from the hens that Rosie had been feeding yesterday. Rita had her back to the room, so she couldn’t see if Rosie was in her place at the babies’ table. She knew that Rosie still wet her bed occasionally when she was frightened or worried; she’d done it several times when Uncle Jimmy had first moved in. Mum had been cross and scolded her, but she’d never made her stand wrapped up in the damp and smelly sheet.
Breakfast seemed to go on forever. Rita was hungry, but she was given no food. At the end of the meal, when grace had been said and everyone had filed out to get on with their chores, Sheila came and fetched her.
‘You got to go up to Mrs Hawkins’ room,’ she told her.
‘Where’s that?’ asked Rita.
Sheila laughed unkindly. ‘Up the stairs,’ she pointed to the main staircase, ‘and then up again. That’s the Hawk’s nest.’ She gave Rita a push towards the stairs. ‘Go on, she’s waiting and she don’t like to be kept waiting.’
Rita hurried up the stairs and turned along the landing, almost bumping into the maid, Betty Grover, as she did so.
‘You ain’t supposed to use them stairs,’ Betty whispered.
‘But Sheila said…’
‘That Sheila’s a bully,’ said Betty. ‘She meant to get you into more trouble ’cos you bit her. Good thing you only bumped into me an’ not the Dragon.’
‘I got to go up to Mrs Hawkins.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Betty nodded, ‘but when you come down again, look under your pillow. I put a bit of bread and marge there. Don’t get caught eating it, mind, or we’ll both be in trouble.’
Rita stared at the maid in surprise. Why would she give her some food when she knew that she was in disgrace? Was it a trap?
Betty seemed to read her mind, because she said, ‘I’m glad you bit that Sheila, an’ I’m not the only one!’ She gave Rita a little push towards the stairs. ‘Go on up,’ she urged, ‘or it’ll get worse.’
Betty scuttled away and Rita turned her steps towards the tower and Mrs Hawkins. When she reached the door she plucked up her courage and tapped.
‘Come in.’
Rita opened the door and found herself in a large room, with sunlight pouring in through wide windows that overlooked the garden. The Hawk was sitting in an armchair, her feet up on a sturdy footstool, reading the paper. Beside her was a coffee table, and on it rested a leather strap, a broad belt with a large buckle on the end. She glanced up as Rita came in. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s you,’ as if she’d been expecting someone else. ‘Stand over there.’
Rita moved to the spot she had indicated, and waited… and waited.
The Hawk continued to read the paper for a while and then looked up again. ‘Take your knickers down,’ she instructed.
Rita stared at her in amazement, not sure she’d heard correctly.
‘I said, take your knickers down… and then come over here.’
‘Please, Mrs Hawkins,’ whispered Rita, ‘I don’t want to.’
‘You’ll learn to do as you’re told, my girl,’ snapped the superintendent, ‘and the sooner you do, the better.’ She paused and fixed Rita with a gimlet glare. ‘Now, take your knickers down and come here.’
Shaking with fear and mortification, Rita approached.
‘You heard what I said,’ purred Mrs Hawkins, her eyes gleaming. ‘If you don’t take your knickers down now, I’ll do this in the dining room in front of everyone else. Take them down and bend over the stool.’
She was standing up now, and at last Rita did as she was told, tears of humiliation streaming down her face. With her bare bottom exposed, she knelt face down across the footstool. She heard the Hawk pick up the belt, heard the rasp of the leather as she ran it through her hands. Then nothing. For nearly five minutes she knelt there; to Rita it could have been five hours as she waited, tensed and terrified, for the first lash of the belt across her backside, but nothing happened. Just as she was beginning to think that the Hawk had changed her mind, she heard it… and felt it. The swish of the belt through the air, the sharp sting as the leather licked across her buttocks. Rita let out a cry of pain and anguish. Her tears slid, unchecked, down her cheeks, and she tasted their salt on her lips.
Then nothing. Another wait. Was that it? When was the next lash coming? In one minute? Or two? It was nearly three. The anticipation was far worse than the actual strike, and the Hawk knew it. She had seen the rebellion in Rita’s eyes from the first, had heard how she had bitten Sheila Nevin, a girl nearly five years older, and she knew that she had to break Rita’s spirit once and for all, or she would continue to cause trouble and unrest among the other girls.
It was more than twenty minutes later when Rita found herself back downstairs. Six lashes with the belt, but they had taken twenty minutes.
‘You’ll go to your dormitory and sit on your stool,’ commanded the Hawk when she finally let Rita stand up. ‘You will stay there until I send for you. Do you understand?’
Though still choking with tears of pain, mortification and anger, Rita managed to say, ‘Yes, Mrs Hawkins.’
‘This punishment is a private thing between you and me,’ the Hawk said. ‘If you mention it, or discuss it with anyone else, I shall call you in again, and next time I’ll use the other end of the belt. Do you understand, Rita?’
‘Yes, Mrs Hawkins.’
‘Good. I hope you do. Go to your dormitory and speak to no one for the rest of the day.’
Rita went to the dormitory, and sat on her stool. That hurt, but she dare not disobey, and she found that if she sat still, it was bearable. Her tears dried on her face as she sat in the silence of the room, listening to the other girls going about their Saturday chores. Girls who had been here for years. Girls like Daisy, who had learned to work the system, girls like Sheila who got her own back by bullying where she herself was bullied, girls like Wetty Betty, the maid, who had been here forever and still hadn’t managed to escape. Thinking of Betty, Rita remembered the promised bread, and though she did not feel hungry, she crept off her stool to look, and to check with sudden panic that the picture of Daddy was still there. It was. She still didn’t risk taking it out to look at him, in case the Dragon came in, but she could feel the shape of the photo, and under the edge of her pillow was a bread and marge sandwich.
Rita strained her ears to hear if anyone was outside in the passage, and when she heard nothing, she bit into the sandwich. Suddenly she was ravenous, and crammed the whole thing into her mouth. She looked on the floor and retrieved the few crumbs that she had dropped, eating those as well. No crumbs for the Dragon or the Hawk to find.
At lunchtime Sheila Nevin came to fetch her. Once again it was the punishment chair and no food. As she walked to the chair, she looked across at the babies’ table and saw Rosie standing behind her chair with all the others. She had red blotches on her cheeks, the traces of earlier tears, but she gave no sign of having seen Rita, keeping her eyes firmly on the table.
Rita longed to go and give her a hug, but she knew that it would be the worse for both of them if she did. At least Rosie was having her meals. Rita was very hungry, and very thirsty, but no one came near her as everyone else ate Saturday lunch. At the end of the meal she was brought a large glass of water by Sheila, who stood over her until she had drained it, then she was sent back to her dormitory stool, to spend the afternoon alone. Her bottom still hurt, but the first pain had subsided, and Rita had other things on her mind. Escape and revenge. Revenge would be impossible, but escape might not be.
We’re not staying in this place a day longer than we have to, she thought, I have to get us out and home again.
Saturday afternoon was the only time in the week when the inmates of Laurel House had any time to themselves. She could hear them now, their voices and laughter drifting up on the summer air as they played hopscotch in the yard, or took turns with the skipping rope. She imagined Daisy hurrying across the Patch through the orchard and into her secret den.
Could they escape from the garden next Saturday if Mum hadn’t come for them by then? wondered Rita. Perhaps they could climb over the wall behind Daisy’s den. No, that was hopeless. She might manage it, but Rosie couldn’t. And it wasn’t just getting out of Laurel House that was the problem; even if they managed that, how would they get home? She didn’t know where home was from here. She knew that the number 37 bus went in the right direction, but she had no money for fares and she knew Rosie could never walk that far. Her mind churned with ideas as she sat alone on her stool, but she came no nearer a solution.
The door to the landing stood open, and once the Dragon had looked in, saying nothing, simply nodding, and once, more alarmingly, the Hawk had stood silently at the door for a full minute before going up to her room. Rita had simply stared at the floor until she heard the Hawk’s footsteps on the stairs and then the closing of a door. For the moment she was safe from the Hawk. She wasn’t the only one who realized that. A few minutes later Betty crept into the room. In her hand she had an apple.
‘Here.’ She held it out.
Rita looked first at the apple and then at Betty. Then with a swift movement she snatched it, sank her teeth into it and began to munch.
‘You’ll have to eat the core too,’ Betty told her. ‘There’s nowhere to hide it, and if they find it, we’re both for the high jump.’ Rita nodded and continued to munch.
‘Don’t keep nothing special in your locker, neither,’ Betty advised. ‘They always search your lockers when you’re at school. And you’d be better not to keep that picture in your pillowcase,’ she added. ‘If they find that, it’s gone.’
So Betty had found the picture of Daddy after all. ‘It’s my daddy,’ Rita said, ‘but I’ve nowhere else to put him.’
‘Carry him with you,’ Betty advised. ‘Keep him in your clothes, or in your desk at school. They don’t search that if you keep it tidy.’ She was silent for a moment and then said, ‘If you’ve got a dad, why’re you in here?’
‘He’s dead,’ Rita said flatly. ‘He was killed in the war.’
‘Mine too,’ said Betty. ‘Went to the war and never come back. Me mum died in an air raid. When me dad didn’t come home, me auntie stuck me in here.’ She looked across at Rita and then said, ‘You got a mum?’
Rita thought about Mum… Mum and Uncle Jimmy. She nodded. ‘Yes, I got a mum, but she’s having a baby. We’ll be going home, me an’ Rosie, when she come out of the hospital.’
‘Lucky you… if you do,’ Betty said, turning away. ‘I got to go.’ She had only taken a couple of steps along the landing when she heard footsteps and the Dragon emerged from the staircase.
‘Betty, what are you doing up here?’ Rita heard her demand. With her mouth still crammed full, Rita pushed the remains of her apple up under her skirt, as Betty replied, ‘Just brought up the laundry for Mrs Hawkins, Matron. Going back down now.’
‘Well, hurry up, I’m sure Mrs Smith has something for you to do in the kitchen.’ Without waiting for a reply she pushed open the door to Purple Dorm and looked in on Rita, who sat, rigid, on her stool, her mouth full of apple, but her jaws unmoving. The Dragon stood there for a long moment and then went out again without a word. Rita, sagging with relief, swallowed her mouthful, and taking the rest of the apple out from under her skirt, ate it quickly, core and all.
It was five o’clock before the Hawk came into the room and said, ‘Are you sorry for your behaviour now, Rita?’
Rita kept her eyes lowered; she was afraid. Afraid of this terrifying woman who stood over her now, her eyes cold and dark and malevolent, so she murmured, ‘Yes, Mrs Hawkins.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Now go down to the dining room and join your table for tea. And let me have no more trouble from you, do you hear?’
Rita took her place beside Daisy in the dining room. Saturday tea was the only meal at which they were allowed to talk, and when grace had been said there was an immediate buzz of conversation.
‘You have to go up to see the Hawk?’ asked Daisy as she reached for the bread and marge and made herself a thick sandwich to dip into her soup.
‘Yeah,’ Rita answered briefly as she did the same. She was very hungry. Apart from the bread and the apple Betty had brought her, she had had nothing to eat since the corned beef hash the night before.
‘What she do?’
‘Ticked me off and put me on punishment,’ replied Rita, not meeting her eye. Nothing would induce her to tell anyone, not even Daisy, exactly what had happened in the half hour she had been in the Hawk’s room.
Daisy eyed her for a moment and then nodded, accepting what she said, but clearly not believing it.
‘Got an egg for you in the playroom,’ she said.
‘An egg?’ Rita looked startled.
‘Yeah, from breakfast. They’re always hard-boiled, so I put yours up me knickers and brought it out.’ She laughed at Rita’s disgusted expression. ‘It’s still in its shell, silly,’ she said. ‘I’ll eat it if you don’t want it!’
‘No,’ Rita said hastily, ‘I’ll have it. Thanks, Dais.’
Daisy grinned at her. ‘’S all right.’
Rita didn’t tell Daisy she was planning to escape. She liked Daisy, and was grateful for her kindnesses, but Rita had learned a hard lesson in the past few weeks. Trust no one. Everyone she’d ever trusted had let her down in one way or another, and today, during the long afternoon spent sitting on her dormitory stool, she had realized that the only person she could trust was herself. Only Rita was going to look after Rita.
She lay in bed that night trying to think of a way out. She’d talked to Rosie in the playroom soon after tea. ‘You all right, Rosie?’ she asked.
‘Where you been, Reet?’ Rosie asked tearfully. ‘I couldn’t find you.’
‘Busy,’ Rita said. ‘Look, Rosie, you got to try not to wet your bed, OK? Dragon’ll get cross if you do it again. If you need to do a wee in the night, you have to go to the bathroom.’
‘I had to wash my sheet,’ Rosie told her. ‘I had to put it in the bath. A nice lady called Betty helped me.’
‘Well, don’t do it again, Rosie, just go to the bathroom, all right?’
‘It’s dark,’ whined Rosie. ‘I don’t like the dark.’ She looked up at Rita. ‘Are you coming in with me tonight, Reet?’
‘No,’ Rita told her firmly. ‘I ain’t. You got to learn to sleep on your own, Rosie.’ She softened as she saw the tears begin to well up again in her sister’s eyes. ‘I can’t come, Rosie,’ she said. ‘They won’t let me.’
‘I don’t like them,’ said Rosie miserably.
‘No, nor do I,’ agreed Rita.
‘’Cept Betty,’ said Rosie. ‘She’s nice.’
Why was Betty helping them? Rita wondered as she lay awake in bed watching the light from the street lamp play on the dormitory ceiling. She had brought Rita some bread and an apple, and she’d helped Rosie with her wet sheet. Why? Was it really simply because Rita had bitten Sheila? Was it revenge for the way she had been treated over the years? Rita wasn’t sure; all she knew was that she didn’t trust Wetty Betty any more than anyone else.
Sunday followed its usual routine, and as the croc wound its way through the streets to the church, Rita wondered if there was any way they could slip away coming back. She could see Rosie further forward in the croc, holding hands with another of the Green Dorm babies, but there was no way she could get to her.
If it was just me, Rita thought as they crossed a side road and passed the open gate of a park, I could nip in there and hide.
She looked at the bushes behind the fence that created the boundary with the road. She might be able to hide there until the rest of them had gone past and then find her way home, but she couldn’t leave Rosie.
Outside the church two of the seniors came round handing each girl her threepenny bit for the collection, and it was as Rita put the coin in her pocket that the idea came to her. At first she dismissed it as impossible, but as the service progressed on its dull and boring way, she kept coming back to it. As usual, Miss Vanstone had come striding into church. Rita looked at her stern face as she took her place in the front pew and wondered if she knew that the Hawk beat the girls with a belt. If she did, Rita thought, she probably didn’t care. Nobody cared.
It was this thought that finally made her decide to take the risk. The risk of stealing from the church. She glanced along the row to where Ole Smithy stood, singing away, head held high, eyes raised to heaven. The Hawk was at the end of the row in front, so it was really only the Dragon who might see. Rita stole a quick look at the matron who was standing at the end of the pew behind. She, too, was singing, but her eyes were directed at the girls in the pew across the aisle. There were only a couple of minutes to decide, as the collection bag drew nearer; and Rita decided. She would not put her threepence in, she would keep it towards the bus fare home and…
Rita kept her coin in one clenched fist, and when the bag reached her, she put the other hand in, as if dropping in her own offering. Pinching her fingers round an earlier coin, she managed to extract it in her closed fist as she passed the bag on. She now had sixpence towards their fares and she kept the two coins clenched in her hand as they walked home.
‘What you going to do with that money?’ asked Daisy casually. ‘I saw you take it out the bag.’
Rita rounded on her. ‘I never! I didn’t take nothing.’
‘You did too,’ retorted Daisy. ‘You’ll be in dead trouble if you’re caught, but what d’you want it for?’
‘I never took nothing,’ Rita maintained, stoutly.
Daisy shrugged. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Suit yourself. I won’t tell no one, anyway. Only where you going to hide it?’
It was indeed a problem. She decided her satchel would be as safe as anywhere. If anyone found the money there, she could say it had always been there, that her mother had made her carry sixpence as emergency money.
After all, she thought, I’ve only got to hide it till tomorrow. As the minister had intoned the final prayers, Rita made another decision. Now she had some money for the bus, she would take Rosie home tomorrow.
When they reached Laurel House Rita went to the lavatory beside the downstairs cloakroom. She hurried to where her satchel was hanging on her peg, and, after a quick glance round to see that she was unobserved, slipped the two coins under the flap. Moments later she was in the playroom, lining up for lunch with the others.