Christmas for the Halfpenny Orphans

Sarah stared at him in horror and then ran from the room before he could hit her again.

‘Pa, she didn’t mean to do it!’ Samantha said, throwing herself between them. She was still holding the pot of hot potatoes and when Pa caught hold of her, he burned his hand on the pot. ‘It was an accident … Oh, Pa, I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to burn you.’

Pa thrust her away but instead of going after Sarah, he picked up his jacket and went out of the kitchen, pausing at the door to glance back at Samantha. ‘If I find you still here when I get back, I’ll kill the pair of you,’ he threatened before storming out.

Samantha had placed the cooking pot on the floor near the range to keep warm and then gone in search of her sister. She’d found her under the bed in their room and it had taken several minutes to coax her out.

‘Sarah didn’t mean to …’ she sobbed in Samantha’s arms. ‘Pa’s cross with Sarah?’

‘Yes, Pa is cross,’ Samantha said and hugged her. ‘But he’ll go down the pub and have a few drinks and forget about it. Come to the kitchen and have some supper. We’ll put Pa’s in the range to keep warm for him.’

It had taken Samantha ages to bring her sister downstairs and even then she ate only a few mouthfuls of the food. Sarah had left her sitting on the lumpy sofa in the kitchen while she washed the pots in the scullery. After the kitchen was tidy she took her sister upstairs and put her to bed. Pa had threatened things before when he was angry, but then he would get over it and perhaps bring them a packet of chips home for their tea the next day.

Only this time he hadn’t got over his temper.

Samantha had woken to the sound of her twin’s screams, something she’d heard so seldom that she knew Sarah must be terrified. As her eyes accustomed themselves to the light, which came from a lamp in the hall, she saw Sarah lying on the floor and Pa standing over her, kicking her as if she were a piece of filth he’d found in the gutter, his savagery beyond anything Samantha had ever seen.

Without stopping to think, Samantha seized the chamber pot and flung the contents over her father. Some of the wee went into his face and must have stung his eyes for he was temporarily blinded and screamed out in a mixture of pain and frustration.

‘You hellcat, you’ve blinded me!’ he cried, stumbling towards her, his hands flailing to grab hold of her.

Samantha pulled her twin to her feet and propelled her along the landing and down the stairs, seeking refuge in the large cupboard under the stairs. She pushed Sarah right to the end and crawled after her, shoving some empty cardboard boxes in front of them in an effort to conceal their whereabouts if Pa looked inside.

‘I know you’re in here,’ Pa’s voice was suddenly very close and the stair cupboard door was jerked open, the light from his torch waving about. It touched on Sarah’s face but she must have been hidden from him as seconds later, he swore and slammed the door shut again. ‘I’m not coming back – do you hear?’ his tone was loud, penetrating the door and reaching Samantha. She trembled as he went on, ‘You can starve before I come back, do you understand me? You’re to go to your aunt, Samantha – and that Child of Satan can go to the devil for all I care …’

Samantha held her breath as the minutes ticked by. The noise had died down and the house was quiet. Pa must have gone to sleep by now, surely. Yet she dared not risk coming out until he’d left for work. Putting her arms around Sarah, she held her close as they both shivered in their nightclothes. Only when the house had been silent for what seemed like hours did Samantha risk venturing into the hall in search of a coat to keep them warm.

It was very dark and she had to feel her way along the walls, frightened of making a noise and bringing Pa down on them again, but the house seemed unnaturally quiet. She took her own coat and Sarah’s from the old wooden hallstand and carried them into the cupboard. At least they were safe here and perhaps when Pa came back tomorrow, he would be sorry for his show of temper. He was always worse when he’d been drinking and Samantha couldn’t believe he’d really meant to kill either of them.

In the morning the girls were stiff, cold and hungry when they crept out. The black marble clock on the kitchen mantle said it was past six o’clock. Pa went to work at six every morning so unless he’d overslept he must have gone, though Samantha had been awake ages and she’d heard nothing. The range hadn’t been made up and it was cold in the kitchen, but the one in the scullery was still warm. Samantha stoked it up and added the coal and the wood her father had bought in the previous day.

She was hungry and looked in the pantry, but discovered that the half loaf of bread left from their meal the previous day was missing, as were the cold sausages and the cheese that had been on the pantry shelves. Pa must have taken them for his dinner at work. All Samantha could find was some stale cake she’d made earlier that week; there was enough to cut each of them a slice and, she discovered, there was sufficient tea left to make a brew, though only a drop of milk and no sugar.

It would be weak tea but it would warm them through a bit, she thought, as she carried the meagre breakfast through to the kitchen. Sarah was staring at the kitchen shelf, a look of dismay on her face.

‘Pa’s pipes gone,’ she said. Her gaze travelled round the kitchen, the look of fear and puzzlement growing. ‘Tankard and coat gone … Pa gone …’

‘No!’ Samantha cried as the fear struck her too. ‘He couldn’t have gone … He’s coming back; he must be …’

Looking around the room, she saw that the few treasures that had stood on the dresser shelves, like their mother’s tea caddy and a pair of silver berry spoons, had gone. All that was left was an assortment of china that didn’t match and a brass tin, where pins and bits were stored.

She put down the tray she’d been carrying and ran from the kitchen and up the stairs, flinging open the door of her father’s room. He wouldn’t have deserted them … surely he wouldn’t. Pa wasn’t really a bad man; it was only that he missed their mother and got drunk sometimes.

As soon as she looked round the room, Samantha knew that it was true. Her father had few possessions he treasured and only a couple of extra shirts and his best suit, which he wore only for funerals or weddings. The cupboard had been left open, as if he’d torn everything from its place in a hurry, and his brushes and shaving things had also gone from the washstand.

The truth hit Samantha like a drenching of cold water. Their father had abandoned them, as Aunt Jane had said he would. He might have told Samantha of his plans had Sarah not broken his favourite pipe, but instead he’d gone down the pub to get roaring drunk and then he’d tried to kill Sarah.

Yes, he really had meant to do it, perhaps because he knew Aunt Jane wouldn’t take her. Perhaps he’d thought it better for everyone if Sarah were dead?

Samantha couldn’t believe what her thoughts were telling her. No, Pa wouldn’t do this, he wouldn’t attack his daughter and then go off leaving them both to starve … But he had. She sat down on the bed, feeling empty, drained. What was she going to do now?

Samantha knew there was no money in the house. Her father never gave her a penny. He paid the rent and brought home the supplies they needed – and he’d taken everything they had of value. She looked about the room, knowing that the contents wouldn’t fetch more than a few pence from the rag-and-bone man. There were still a few things in the scullery and kitchen, things that had belonged to their mother. Sarah had broken the best china pot, but there might be some copper pans and a few silver spoons in the drawer. She would have to go through every room and take whatever items she could find to the scrapyard later. Samantha was frightened of Alf, the man who ran the scrapyard, but she couldn’t think of any other way to get money to buy food. After that, she wasn’t sure what to do. She knew they wouldn’t be able to stay here: the rent was due on Saturday and Pa wouldn’t be around to pay it.

Samantha ran her hands over her sides, her body aching in the same places that her father’s blows had rained down on her twin. She didn’t know why she always felt her sister’s pain, she just did. That realisation brought her out of her shock and she got up off the bed, knowing she had to go downstairs and see what she could do to help. Poor Sarah must be hurting all over – she already bore the scars of more than one beating and last night’s attack had been the most vicious of them all.

What people didn’t understand was that Samantha and her twin lived for each other. Each felt the other’s pain and sorrow as if it were her own. That was why Samantha couldn’t do as her father ordered and go to Aunt Jane. She’d made it clear she would send Sarah to a place where Samantha knew she would be unhappy. They would never see each other – and that would break both their hearts.

When Samantha walked into the kitchen she found Sarah nursing the clay pipe she’d broken the previous evening, which Pa hadn’t bothered to pick up from the floor. Tears were trickling down her cheeks and Samantha knew that her twin understood Pa had gone, even if she couldn’t grasp what that meant for the two of them. They were all alone in the world now, with no one to turn to, no one who would take them both in.

Well, there was nothing else for it: they would just have to look after each other. As soon as she’d got her sister fed and dressed, Samantha would go to the scrapyard and sell everything of value, and then she would set about finding somewhere they could stay. There were plenty of houses that were standing empty after having been bombed-out in the war. Tramps and homeless people slept in them, and so could she and Sarah – just for a while, just until she could decide what to do …

‘Put that pipe in your pocket and come and eat your cake,’ she said, wrapping an arm around her sister. ‘We’ll be all right, Sarah love. I’ll take care of you now.’

Sarah’s smile was loving and trusting as she looked at her. ‘Samantha take care of me,’ she repeated, and sat down at the table to eat her cake and drink the tea that was now cold.

TWO (#u73c8b4c7-7420-526f-9071-074ab27a3f8f)

‘Well, here’s to you, Sally,’ Angela Morton lifted her wineglass to the young woman who had been such a friend to her at St Saviour’s and was now leaving her job to take up her training to become a nurse. ‘I’m sure we all wish you the very best in your new life – and you must promise you will come and see us when you can.’

‘Yes, of course I shall,’ Sally promised. Angela noticed the girl’s blush as everyone drank the toast and then crowded round her, friends hugging and kissing her and telling her how much she would be missed.

It was true that the young carer would be missed, as much by Angela as any of them, but she knew in her heart it was for the best. To stay on at the children’s home would have brought back too many memories of the man who had filled the children’s ward with laughter when he visited the hospital as a volunteer, the man Sally had hoped to marry until he lost his life in a car accident.

Hearing the phone shrilling, Angela left the staff room where the small party was taking place and ran upstairs to answer it in Sister’s office. It stopped as she reached it and she frowned, wondering if it had been business or perhaps Mark Adderbury … but he would more likely have used the extension in her office had he wanted to speak to her.

A sigh left her lips. It had been a while since Mark had bothered to get in touch, though he’d continued to call in at the home occasionally in a professional capacity. He still nodded and spoke in passing, but his special smile had been conspicuous by its absence. Angela had always thought of Mark as one of her closest friends; when she’d been overwhelmed by grief after her husband of a few months was killed in the war, Mark had been the one who helped her get through it. For a while she’d believed their friendship might develop into something more – but that was before Staff Nurse Carole Clarke came on the scene.

Eager to ensnare a rich husband, the attractive young nurse had made a play for Mark. He’d been flattered at first and they’d gone on a couple of dates, but when he tried to break up with her she told him she was pregnant. Mark had done the honourable thing and proposed. Although she thought he was making a terrible mistake, Angela had felt it wasn’t her place to intervene. But when she caught Carole tampering with records in an effort to discredit Sister Beatrice, and found out that she had lied about being pregnant, Angela had no choice but to get involved. Appalled by his fiancée’s duplicity, Mark had ended their engagement. Carole had stormed out, saving Sister Beatrice the trouble of dismissing her, but her departure hadn’t healed the rift that had opened between Angela and Mark. If anything, he was more distant. It was as though his initial shock over his former fiancée’s behaviour had turned to embarrassment and now he couldn’t bear to face Angela.

In the staff room, Sally’s colleagues were still saying their farewells, but Angela was in no mood to return to the party. Instead she carried on down the stairs, meeting Sister as she reached the hall below.

‘Ah, Angela,’ Sister Beatrice said. ‘I was just on my way up to see you. I’ve been speaking to Constable Sallis. It appears they’ve found a couple of young girls in an abandoned house. They’re in a weakened state apparently. He asked if we would take them in while inquiries are made. Naturally, I said yes.’

‘Poor darlings,’ Angela said. ‘How old are they?’

‘He was rather vague,’ the nun said and shook her head. ‘He thinks about eleven, but he isn’t sure about the younger one.’

‘Ah, well, I’m sure we can fit them in somewhere in the new wing. We have so much more room now that we’re able to move in there.’

‘Yes, thank goodness. Mark Adderbury telephoned me earlier. He suggested we have a small party here for the staff to celebrate the opening of the new wing. He thinks it would be a good idea to ask the Bishop to open it for us. Naturally, I agreed, though I do not particularly see the need myself …’ She waved her hand in dismissal. ‘But if the Board think we should …’

Angela noticed the faint sigh. Sister Beatrice was looking pale and tired. A few months previously she had been attacked by an unfortunate and disturbed boy named Terry and though it didn’t seem possible that she would still be affected by a minor injury, it was clear she was no longer the forthright and energetic Sister Beatrice of old.

‘Is anything the matter, Sister? Are you quite well?’

‘Why do you ask? I’m perfectly all right. What nonsense.’ Sister Beatrice walked off; evidently annoyed that Angela should express concern. She prided herself that she was never ill and routinely shrugged off colds that would send lesser mortals to their beds. Angela shook her head and made her way to the kitchens.

The cook, Muriel, was complaining to Nan, who was trying to placate her but without much success. ‘How I’m supposed to manage with that wretched girl late again I don’t know,’ Muriel said. ‘She was away two days last week – and she knows there’s a mountain of work to do today if I’m to bake as well as make jam from those lovely plums and apples we’ve been given. I can make a pudding with some of them, but most of the plums are too ripe for eating.’