My husband and I leaned on the gate that led to the playfield, the baby asleep in a basket at our feet. A year after our return another June breeze riffled the corn in the farmer's field next door and stirred the waist-high bracken on the hill, bringing with it the scent of summer flowers, honey, lime-blossom and the richness of warm pine trees. The children, eight girls and three boys so far, although Toby would be bringing us more the next day, were chasing a soft ball across the grass and, judging by the shrieks of laughter, thoroughly enjoying themselves.
Behind us in the old stable-yard, drying linen flapped and cracked in the wind, and through the kitchen window I could see Ellen and her widowed sister Jeannie were making the final preparations for luncheon: cold chicken and summer salad, with fresh, warm bread and milk pudding to follow. All the produce was from Hightop, apart from the flour and yeast, for we now had two dairy cows, were fattening a couple of pigs and had increased the numbers of ducks and chickens and extended the kitchen garden by half as much again, and Mr. Early was busy carpentering a see-saw and swings for the children.
The choice of children we had left to Toby—he knew better than any who needed help—but at first I had been full of worthy schemes for their education—globes and improving books in the room we had designated as the schoolroom. But it was Ellen—who had left the school and Miss Moffat after being accused by the headmistress of not being economical enough with the poor fare the children were offered, which was absolute nonsense, as well I knew—who had put me on the right path.
"Listen, miss—sorry, missus, but it's difficult to think of you as a married lady—you ain't teachin' in a school no more, you're goin' to run a Horphanage. What them children need is food, more food and lovin' care, not books, leastways not at first. Once you've got them clean and tidy and rid of the bed-wetting and have taught 'em to use a knife and fork proper and say yes please and no thank you, the next stage is bedmakin', dustin' and polishin', layin' fires and blackleadin'. Then into the kitchens to prepare vegetables and learn to wash up. After that comes simple stitchery, which my sister can teach 'em, 'cos she earned what she could as a seamstress. Then you can teach 'em enough to follow a receipt, sign their names and add two and two so they aren't cheated when the tradespeople call."
She saw the dismayed look on my face, and I could see she was trying not to laugh.
"Oh Missus Sophy, don't look so worrit! They'll come to your learnin' soon enough, but first things first! Now, the first thing is what they's to wear. It's summer, so vests and cotton shirts and leggings for the boys, and vests, short dresses and pantaloons for the girls. Something cool, comfortable and easy to put on and take off. As this is a Horphanage, perhaps it would be better if they all wore the same colour: how about brown for the boys and blue for the girls? That way there won't be no nonsense about one wearing something better than someone else . . . And that's another thing: they'll have to learn washin' and ironin' as well. And I forgot the butter and cheese makin'."
"But Ellen, some of them will be only five or six years old!"
"Never too young to learn. Fact, the younger the better. Now, when we've got them to rights, the boys can help Mr. Early with the kitchen garden and the animals, and I'll have the girls in the kitchen. Tell you what, you have them in the mornings and we'll take them for the rest of the day. Don't forget, you're not teaching future Prime Ministers and lady librarians, you're trying to make the girls fit for service in good positions and the boys 'prenticed well. That's all. If on the way you find someone to take further, like Master Toby, well and good, but don't expect it!"
She was perfectly right, of course, but I found it difficult to absorb, no more so than on the day we welcomed our first arrivals and I watched horrified as the new arrivals were taken out into the yard, stripped bare, had their heads shaved, girls as well as boys, and were then dumped, one by one, into a large tub of warm water and scrubbed with carbolic soap until all the London grime had gone for good. Two of them were too cowed by their earlier life and the newness of their surroundings to do anything but submit, but the other three yelled and shrieked and fought all the way through and Mrs. Early, Ellen and her sister had their work cut out. Bathed and disinfected, they luckily fitted into the clothes Jeannie had already sewn. They were then fed—outside—just to see about their manners which were, mostly, nonexistent. So that was the first chore . . .
Play-time was before luncheon and before supper. In the winter months we had to spend a good of time indoors, and at those times we used the schoolroom, which I made as bright and welcoming as possible, to hear many stories and play games of blindman's buff, hunt the thimble or musical chairs from the old piano, together with the quieter dominoes, draughts and hands of cards. Two of the downstairs smaller rooms were turned into indoor privies and washrooms. We bought new beds, put up hooks for clothes, provided cutlery and crockery and hung curtains. After we had just about become used to our first arrivals, Toby brought six more, and we started all over again, luckily helped by the first lot, determined to show their superiority.
We had decided that about thirty children was about enough to cope with, replacing after that those who got good positions. We had sold the pearls in London for an excellent price, and the necklace had been bought at our inflated asking price by a certain "Royal Personage" for his mistress! That money was invested in railways, cotton and munitions, which Beau said people always need, and were paying good dividends.
He himself had found a position as consultant with a city Merchant Bank dealing with the Far East, and went up to town two or three times a week. We had given Claude and Danny a hundred pounds each to set them up, because they were still determined on the detective agency.
We had found Beau's grandfather and grandmother living quietly in Plymouth, and although wary at first they had soon accepted their grandson and his wife as welcome additions to the family, and were delighted to learn they were soon to be great-grandparents.
As for Toby, we had offered him a lump sum but he wouldn't take it, asking us instead to put a bit aside whenever we had any to spare and invest it, so he would have a bit put by when he kitted himself out for his first expedition. He was still determined to become an explorer, and to this end was studying every book he could find on the subject, besides searching out the most deserving cases for the orphanage. With the five he was bringing us tomorrow, it would bring the count up to eighteen, with Jeannie's two little girls. He explained that we would always have more girls than boys, because the latter were better able to look after themselves on the streets, and adapted readily to being part of a gang of young thieves.
Another piece of news was that Miss Madeleine from the Charity School was planning to join us next week. Apparently Miss Moffat had found a rather attractive young lady to fill my post, and Madeleine wrote that she was just twiddling her thumbs and would I take her at a low wage? Between the lines I could read that she was desperate also not to end up as an old maid, and immediately bethought myself of the young curate at the village church, who came faithfully every Sunday to lead us in prayers and tell the children Bible stories. Beau was happy for her to come, saying I would have more time with our daughter if I had someone else to do the teaching.
We three lived at the "Temple," as I still thought of it, looked after by Mr. and Mrs. Early. Our bedroom was the one I had first occupied, the baby's Night Nursery next to it, the Day Nursery the room in which I had prepared for our journey, which still left three bedrooms for guests. If Madeleine had one of these, Toby could have one and Claude and Danny double up, if they all arrived for a visit together.
Thinking of those two made me grin, and Beau turned to look at me.
"Share it?"
"Just thinking of that first success of `Cumberbatch and Duveen.' "
"Typical Danny . . ."
Indeed it had been, but it had opened all sorts of doors for them, so now they had moved from their original lock-up to an office with a room behind for eating, cooking and sleeping and an outside privy, with two let floors above, from which they collected rent. Their first "scoop" had been, as Beau said, "typical Danny." As I saw it, it was ten out of ten for opportunism.
It appeared that he had witnessed an accident in which an expensive-looking carriage had overturned, discharging a small beribboned dog who yapped and dodged between the legs of the passersby. Danny seized his chance, grabbed the dog and bore it back to their lodgings. In spite of Claude's protests he fed it and cleared up its messes and bore its petulant barking, until he could study the papers the next day, and saw as he expected, a reward of ten pounds. He waited until the next day when the reward had risen to fifteen pounds, then had visited the bereaved dog-owner, a hysterical dowager, and offered his services to "find" the dog, hinting darkly at a dog-stealing gang, and the dangers of trying to penetrate their fastnesses, and had been offered the reward, plus five pounds per day if he could return the dog. Obviously he had been successful, but it had taken him five days. . . . Forty pounds to the good, plus the recommendation of a grateful dowager! Danny had a lucky touch, or a four-leaved clover.
Behind us the bell clanged outside the kitchen door and the children ceased their play and streamed for the gate, which Beau swung open. Ten minutes until luncheon, time for the children to wash their hands and tidy up. Beau closed the gate and dropped a kiss on the tip of my nose.
"Saturday afternoon, sweetheart . . ."
"So?"
"So the children are going on a nature ramble this afternoon with Mr. and Mrs. Early. Neither of us will be needed between, say, two and five. I suggest we—" and he bent and whispered in my ear.
I blushed. "In the open?"
"Why not? The sun is good for you, and I like to see my wife in daylight. You are beautiful in any light, my sweet, but the sun is something we can't often take advantage of . . ."
I adored him, of course. Strangely enough, his cat-colours had come through to his human body. His skin was the creamy-beige of his cat-coat, his hair the chocolate of his mask and paws, and his eyes the same startling blue; his body was as lithe and strong as his cat-body. And he loved me too . . .
I nodded down at the wicker-basket, where Serena had just opened her eyes and was stretching and yawning her toothless mouth. Her fist went to her mouth, obviously ready for her luncheon. "What about her?"
"Go and feed her, and then let Ellen have her for an hour or two. You know she dotes on her. . . ."
Serena opened her eyes, the same blue as her father's, and yawned again, and my heart turned over with love for them both, my husband and my daughter. Just now, life was good. Doubtless there would be hard times, bad times in the future, but our love would see us through, of that I was sure.
Beau put his arms about me. "Any regrets, my darling?"
"None at all." But then I remembered something that was still nagging at me. "Well, yes: I suppose there is something . . ."
"Tell me!" He kissed me again. "I'll cure it if I can."
"You can't, nobody can . . ."
"But what is it?"
"Well, it's just that . . . Sounds silly I know, such a small thing really . . ."
"What?"
"I just wish I knew what happened to the Eg . . ."