Workhouse Angel Read online

  Later that day, Mother Mary Benedicta sent for her.

  ‘I know you must be feeling a little disappointed about not going home, Angelina. But you are not the only one. Juanita is staying. It’s too far for her to go home to Mexico. And little Margaret has no home to go to. So you will not be alone. We will find things for you to do; enjoyable things, I hope.’

  Juanita was fifteen and clearly not interested in the company of a nine-year-old and Margaret was a strange child who seemed to live in a world of her own, obsessively arranging and rearranging her collection of seashells. So Angelina was lonely, in spite of Reverend Mother’s reassurances. She found, in practice, she did not mind. Some activities were organised for all three girls, but their level of maturity was so disparate that they tended to be undertaken separately.

  Angelina had long conversations with Mother Mary Madeleine, the elderly nun who taught French, and became quite fluent. Sister Catherine, one of the younger lay sisters, played ball games with her and taught her the rudiments of tennis. But for a large part of the time she was left to herself. She was free to wander wherever she liked in the grounds, and this in itself was more freedom than she had ever known. There was an extensive library in the salle d’études and, though she was only allowed access to the section that the nuns regarded as suitable for her age group, she discovered for the first time the joy of reading. She read The Water Babies by Charles Kingsley, and Alice in Wonderland, and At the Back of the North Wind. Best of all was the fact that Mother Marie Therèse allowed her to play the piano whenever she liked and sometimes gave her some extra lessons. One way or another, the two weeks of the holiday passed pleasantly enough.

  Over the Easter weekend itself she was expected to attend some, though not all, of the services in the chapel. She saw that the nuns were genuinely moved by the story of the Crucifixion and equally rejoiced in the celebration of the Resurrection. The crucifix, with the body of Christ hanging on it, and the agony it represented, terrified her and she wondered how the nuns who knelt before it could bear to think about it; but there was no escaping the proof of their dedication. She had come to like many of them, even to love a few, and she tried hard to enter into their devotion but she still could not bring herself to believe.

  She saw the other girls arriving for the new term with mixed feelings. It was good to have company again, but it meant the end of her freedom and a return to a regular timetable of lessons. Once they had all settled into the usual routine, however, she decided that on balance she preferred this.

  In mid-May a frisson of excitement ran through the school. Three senior girls had decided they had a vocation and wished to become nuns. There would be a special service and the bishop would come to receive them as postulants. After that, there would be a special sung Mass. Mother Therèse was in a flurry, chivvying the choir to greater and greater efforts. At the third rehearsal she said, ‘I have decided that the “Agnus Dei” will be sung by a solo voice. It will be either you, Eloise, or you, Angelina. Come to my room at private study time and I will teach it to you both.’

  From that moment, Angelina’s whole desire was focussed on one thing. She must be the one to sing the solo! She rehearsed with Eloise and then alone and two days before the service they were both summoned to the music room.

  ‘I want each of you to sing for me once more, and then I will make my decision.’

  Eloise sang first and, listening, Angelina knew that she could do better. Eloise was good, but she had to strain for the high notes. When her turn came she reached them effortlessly.

  When she had finished Mother Therèse said gently, ‘You have both done very well but on this occasion I am going to ask Angelina to take the solo. Your turn will come, Eloise, at another time but for now I want you to hold yourself in readiness in case Angelina should, heaven forfend, catch a chill before Sunday and be unable to perform. Now, I do not want you to talk about this to the other girls. Let it be a surprise on Sunday.’

  As they left Eloise hissed, ‘It should have been me! I’ve been here for two years and you’re just a jumped-up little show off of a new girl.’

  ‘I’m sorry you’re upset,’ Angelina said, and meant it. ‘But I’m sure you will get a chance next time.’

  All night she hugged the thought of the service to herself. She did not want to tell the others. It was too precious to be shared as common gossip.

  On the Saturday there was a final rehearsal with the full choir and, to preserve the secret, Mother Therèse asked them both to sing the ‘Agnus Dei’ as a duet; but as they left the chapel Angelina heard someone whisper, ‘It should be Angelina. She’s much better.’

  That evening she was surprised to be summoned to Mother Mary Andrew’s office. The nun’s expression was grim.

  ‘I have just learned that Mother Marie Therèse is considering allowing you to sing the solo in tomorrow’s Mass. I have explained to her that this is quite unacceptable. You are not in a fit state of grace to take such a prominent role. Eloise, who has made her first confession and been confirmed, will sing it.’

  Angelina stared at her in numb disbelief. ‘But I’m better than she is.’

  ‘Your voice may be better, possibly. But that is not the only consideration.’

  ‘Please, Mother Mary Andrew –’ tears surged up in her throat ‘– please let me! I want it so much.’

  ‘What you want is of no importance. You have yet to learn self-denial and obedience. This will be a salutary lesson.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘That is enough! You have already said enough to lose you five marks for politeness. Go before I have to deduct any more.’

  Angelina ran through the building until she reached the music room. She burst in without knocking, already in tears.

  ‘Mother Marie Therèse, Mother Mary Andrew says I am not to sing the solo tomorrow.’

  Marie Therèse took hold of her hand. ‘I know. Mother Mary Andrew has already been to see me. It is unkind, but there is nothing to be done. Next year, I promise, you will be the one to sing.’

  ‘I don’t care about next year!’ Angelina declared passionately. ‘I’m better than Eloise. It ought to be me. Don’t you want the singing to be the best it can be?’

  Mother Therèse stepped back with a sigh. ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘I’m going to ask Mother Mary Benedicta,’ Angelina said with sudden resolution. ‘She will understand how important it is.’

  ‘No, Angelina! Stop. Wait!’

  She had already left the room. The nun hurried after her but did not try to stop her. Angelina knocked and was through the door of the Reverend Mother’s office before she had been given permission to enter.

  ‘Reverend Mother!’ Angelina sank to her knees in front of the astonished nun. ‘I’m supposed to sing the solo in the Mass tomorrow. Mother Marie Therèse has chosen me because I’m the best. And now Mother Mary Andrew says I am not allowed to do it. Please say I can!’

  Mother Mary Benedicta looked over her head at Marie Therèse. ‘Is this so?’

  ‘Yes, Reverend Mother. Angelina’s voice is definitely best suited to the piece in question.’

  ‘And on what ground has Mother Mary Andrew countermanded this arrangement?’

  ‘I believe she feels Angelina’s spiritual condition is not … does not merit such prominence.’

  ‘I see.’ Mother Mary Benedicta considered for a moment. ‘Mother Marie Therèse, would you be so good as to ask Mother Mary Andrew to join us?’

  ‘Of course, Mother.’

  Left alone, Reverend Mother raised Angelina to her feet. ‘Now, child, stop crying. It is not fitting to shed such bitter tears merely because your personal ambition has been thwarted. We all have to meet setbacks and disappointments and the correct path is to offer your sorrow up to God and pray that you may be strengthened by it. Do you understand?’

  Angelina shook her head miserably.

  ‘Do you know why Mother Mary Andrew has forbidden you to sing?’

 
‘She says I’m not in a sufficient state of grace.’

  ‘Do you know why she says that?’

  Angelina hesitated. ‘I think … I think it’s because I don’t always understand what she says when she is teaching me the catechism.’

  Brisk footfalls heralded the arrival of the Mother Scholastic. Her face was white and rigid with fury.

  ‘Do I understand aright that this child has taken it upon herself to question my decision? And that you, Mother Marie Therèse, have abetted her in this act of disobedience?’

  ‘Angelina has much the better voice.’ Marie Therèse’s own voice shook. ‘I thought that we should offer up the very best we have on such an important occasion.’

  ‘The child is a heathen!’ Mother Mary Andrew overrode any opportunity for comment. ‘She questions every tenet in the catechism. She is vain and self-willed. We would sin by encouraging such traits.’

  Mother Mary Benedicta looked from her to Marie Therèse and then at Angelina, who experienced a flare of hope at the hint of indecision. At length she said, ‘Angelina, go back to the salle d’études and get on with your work. I need to talk to the two Mothers privately. I will send for you when I have made my decision.’

  With dragging steps, Angelina obeyed, but it was impossible to concentrate on her work. She sat watching the door, waiting for the summons, aware that her tear-stained face had already aroused whispered comment among the other girls. After a long time Sister Berthe came in and murmured, ‘Reverend Mother will see you now.’

  Mother Mary Benedicta was sitting behind her desk, her face grave but composed. ‘Come here, Angelina. I have talked to Mother Scholastic and to Mother Marie Therèse and I have decided that I must uphold the authority of Mother Mary Andrew. She is, after all, in charge of everything connected with the school, and she also has the best understanding of where you are on your spiritual journey.’ She raised a hand to silence the plea that burst from Angelina’s lips. ‘I know this is a great disappointment and that to you it seems unjust. You must try to look upon it as an opportunity to learn, and to vanquish those impulses of vanity and self-importance that Mother Mary Andrew has detected in you. Perhaps you may also wish to consider that, although it is good to question what we are told in general terms, there are certain facts that have to be accepted as a matter of faith. You are very young, and you must acquire the humility to accept that older and wiser heads have knowledge and understanding that you lack as yet.’ Her face softened. ‘Your time will come. I promise you that. Meanwhile, you must try not to annoy Mother Mary Andrew. Now, go to bed and when you say your prayers ask God to give you a humble and contrite heart. Will you do that?’

  ‘Yes, Reverend Mother.’ The words sounded meek, but in her heart Angelina felt anything but contrite. She had been dealt an injustice and this was something she could not accept. She prayed before she got into bed, but not for humility. Instead she asked God to bring down vengeance on Mother Mary Andrew and to make sure that Eloise had a terrible cold by the next morning.

  As the choir took their places for the service Angelina made sure that her bearing was unimpeachable. Overnight she had formulated a plan and nothing must get in the way of its execution. The school assembled and the parents of the three postulants took their places in the front pews. There was an atmosphere of subdued but febrile excitement, which rose to a climax when the three girls made their entrance. Dressed like brides, in white satin and lace veils, they seemed to float down the aisle to take their places before the altar, and they knelt in turn before the bishop.

  ‘My child, what do you demand?’

  ‘The holy habit of religion, my lord …’

  Angelina frowned in puzzlement. Why would these girls wish to go straight from their schooldays into the seclusion of the convent? She could understand, just, the attraction of remaining in this place of quiet security; but she had heard from the other side of the lake, which was open to the public, the shouts of children at play and the laughter of young people out to enjoy themselves. There was another life out there. Not one that she had ever experienced, but the mere fact that she knew it existed meant that she could never be content to shut herself away without at least the opportunity to taste it.

  The service proceeded. Each of the three girls received the folded habit, the coif and veil she would wear as a nun, and then they made their way back up the aisle and disappeared.

  ‘What happens now?’ Angelina whispered to her neighbour.

  ‘They have all their hair cut off and then they get dressed in their new habits.’

  Angelina shivered.

  A hymn was sung and after another long wait the three postulants reappeared, almost unrecognisable with their hair hidden and their faces framed in the white coif. They knelt again at the prie-dieu they had occupied earlier and the Mass began.

  The choir excelled itself, voices blending in praise and supplication. The moment arrived for the ‘Agnus Dei’ and not one but two girls stood up, and two voices were raised. One began confidently, then wavered for a moment, then strained for volume to drown out the other and finally cracked and faded into silence, while the other flowed on, pure and effortless, rising to the vaults of the roof and on to the heaven beyond.

  Ten

  One spring morning a fair-bearded man with a slight limp entered the offices of Weaver and Woolley, Solicitors, in Liverpool. The solicitor’s clerk rose from behind his desk to greet him.

  ‘Good morning. I’m James Breckenridge, at your service. How can I help you?’

  ‘My name is Richard Kean,’ was the response, ‘but to be entirely honest with you, I’m not sure how you can help, or even if you can. Is it possible to speak to Mr Weaver, or Mr Woolley?’

  ‘Mr Woolley is unavailable at the moment, but Mr Weaver is in his office. He usually only sees people by appointment but he might be able to give you a few minutes. Shall I ask?’

  ‘Please do.’

  James went into the inner office and returned a few moments later. ‘Mr Weaver will see you. Please come this way.’

  Josiah Weaver was a small man with pince-nez and a sharp nose that twitched when he was interested in something. He rose and shook hands with the visitor and offered him a chair.

  ‘James, I think it might be helpful if you stayed, in case I need you to take notes. You don’t mind, do you, Mr Kean?’

  ‘No, no. Of course not.’

  James took a seat at a little distance and got out a notepad and pencil from his jacket pocket.

  ‘Now, what can we do for you, Mr Kean?’ Weaver asked.

  ‘It is a long story and one that does not reflect well on me as a person, I fear,’ Kean began, ‘but I will tell you the whole of it and then you can tell me whether you can see any way forward.’ He shifted in his chair and settled himself. ‘I am by profession an engineer specialising in mining. Until ten years ago I was mine manager at a colliery in Neston on the Wirral peninsula. One terrible day there was an explosion below ground. I went down to investigate and to help in the rescue of survivors. In the course of that operation, a slab of rock fell on my leg and fractured it. It took a long time to heal, and during that time I was, of course, unable to work. I was married, with a baby daughter, and times were very hard for us, as you may imagine. I had some savings, but we soon got through them. When my leg was sufficiently healed I started to look for a new job.

  ‘Unfortunately, the mine at Neston never recovered from the explosion and had been closed down, so there was nothing there for me. We moved to Liverpool, hoping I might find work of some other nature, but I had no success, and to add to our difficulties my wife was now pregnant with our second child. I was at my wits end. Then one day I met a man in an inn near the docks, where I had gone in a moment of despair to, as the saying goes, drown my sorrows.

  ‘We got talking and it transpired that he had just got off a boat from South Africa. He owned some land on which a recent survey had discovered a deposit of coal. He knew nothing of mining and had come to
England expressly to recruit someone with expertise in that area.’ Kean had been looking down at his hands. Now he paused and raised his eyes. ‘You can imagine that it seemed a most providential meeting. I invited him to my home, we talked, and in matter of hours he had offered me a five-year contract. There was only one difficulty. He wanted me to leave for Africa at once, but my wife was in poor health. I am afraid the privations she had suffered while I was unemployed had weakened her and the pregnancy had been difficult.’ He paused again and drew a deep breath.

  ‘Now I come to the most difficult part of my story. It was agreed that I should take ship at once for Cape Town and she would remain in Liverpool with our little daughter until the new baby was of an age to be able to withstand the journey. My prospective employer advanced me some money to cover her expenses in the interim. It was far from ideal but I dared not let the chance of a good job slip away from me, so I booked my passage.’ Kean’s voice had become more and more strained as he spoke and now it cracked and he had to pause.

  ‘Some water for Mr Kean,’ Weaver ordered.

  James fetched a glass and Kean took a sip and cleared his throat. ‘On the day before I was due to sail my wife unexpectedly went into labour. There were … there were complications. To tell it briefly, she died and the child with her.’ Weaver made a noise indicating sympathy and when Kean looked up there were tears in his eyes. ‘I was left with my other daughter, who was only just over one year old. What was I to do? I had no close family to turn to, no neighbours who might be in a position to take on a child, and I had to get on that ship. God forgive me, I took her to the workhouse. It was long after midnight. The gates were shut. I wrapped her in a shawl and laid her outside the gate, where she must be seen as soon as they were opened. And then I ran to the docks and just caught my ship before she sailed.’

  James leant forward sharply. ‘How long ago was this?’

  ‘Almost eight years. I served out my contract and was offered an extension. I was doing well and making money, so I agreed. I tried to forget the child I had left behind me. I told myself she would be looked after, that to reappear in her life would be a disruption, but I knew I was only trying to silence my own conscience. As time passed and I thought of Amy growing up without me it became harder and harder to bear. Then my employer decided that we needed better machinery and he suggested I should come back to England, to study the latest developments and find out where the best examples were to be found. We came to an agreement. I had six months of my extended contract to run. I would come back here and spend that time locating and purchasing what we needed. After that, I would be free to stay or return, as I chose.’ He heaved a deep sigh. ‘So here I am, gentlemen, and my one desire is to find my daughter.’