reading

1

Torquay, 1901

‘Two deaths and it isn’t even the end of January.’ Mrs Daws shivered, in spite of the warmth coming from the range. ‘I hope that old portent isn’t coming true, Miss Sullivan.’

‘And which one would that be?’ Sarah asked, looking up from the early morning cup of tea she’d been enjoying. This was normally her favourite time of morning when the house was quiet.

Although it was nearly three months since her godfather had died, entrusting his beloved Red Cliffs into her care, she still had much to learn about the running of the place and time to herself was a rare commodity. So many people were relying on her to keep the school open and she was determined not to let them down. Luckily Mrs Daws, the indomitable housekeeper, was happy to give Sarah the benefit of her experience, and also her opinions.

Fond as she was of the woman, Sarah wished she would hurry up and answer, for once the children rose it would be all systems go until bedtime, especially now that Amelia, their temporary schoolmistress, had left, and she had lessons to plan as well.

‘The portent that decrees everything happens in threes,’ Mrs Daws replied in her own time. ‘Should have guessed when I saw all them crows on the lawn.’

‘Really, Mrs Daws,’ Sarah said, shaking her head at the woman’s superstitions.

‘You might well mock,’ the housekeeper replied, kneading the dough vigorously on the scrubbed table. ‘But nature’s never wrong. You can’t deny that both our dear Queen and Mrs Knight have been taken, and on the same day, too. Who’s next, that’s what I’d like to know.’

‘Mrs Daws, Queen Victoria was eighty-one years old and had been ailing for some time, while Mrs Knight … well, I don’t know her exact age, but she was elderly and had been confined to a Bath chair for many years.’ Sarah bit down the lump in her throat. She had known Mrs Knight only a short time, but the old lady had helped her when she most needed it by arranging a sewing bee to make smocks and shirts for the children, and, as well as feeling grateful, Sarah had really valued her friendship.

‘All I’m saying is …’ Mrs Daws tutted as the door opened, letting in a blast of cold air. ‘Do be quick, Master Higgins,’ she chided the young schoolmaster as he stamped his boots on the doorstep.

‘Won’t be a minute, Mrs Daws,’ he replied amiably. Sarah hid a smile, knowing that despite his assurances, the master would do things in his own time. He might look easy-going with his velvety hazel eyes and generous mouth, but he was a man who knew his own mind.

‘You’re letting out all the heat,’ the housekeeper grumbled. ‘Heat which is needed if the bread is to … oh …’ Her voice trailed away as she noticed the young boy standing beside Harry Higgins. He was blackened with grime from his straggly hair to his bare toes and gripping a ragged bundle as if his life depended upon it. As he stood glaring at them with eyes darker than coal, the master gently pushed him into the room.

‘This is Solomon and he has come to stay with us for a while, haven’t you, old chap?’ he asked, smiling down at the boy, who scowled back.

‘Hello, Solomon,’ Sarah said softly, her heart going out to the boy, who looked as though he’d slept in his clothes. ‘Welcome to Red Cliffs.’

The boy raised his chin defiantly and clutched the bundle tighter to his chest.

‘Don’t amember saying you could use me name,’ he muttered.

Recalling her godfather saying that children were often defensive when frightened, Sarah smiled and tried again.

‘Fair enough, but we need to call you something. As today is Tuesday how about we call you that?’ she suggested.

The boy gave a snort of derision.

‘Now, young Solomon, I expect you’re hungry,’ Mrs Daws said matter-of-factly. He didn’t answer, just stood there eyeing the closed door like an animal trapped in a cage. She put the dough aside to rise, then bustled over and crouched down beside him. ‘Got some nice porridge cooking, if you’re interested? Might even find a drop of creamy milk to go on top,’ she added casually. This caught his attention and he turned and eyed the housekeeper solemnly. ‘Trouble is, only clean children are permitted to sit up to the table so we’ll have to get you spruced up a bit.’

The boy frowned down at his blackened hands, then shrugged.

‘You go with Mrs Daws, Solomon,’ Harry Higgins urged. ‘She’ll take care of you.’

‘I already told you, I can take care of meself,’ he snorted.

‘So, you don’t want any breakfast then?’ the master replied.

‘Does smell good,’ the boy admitted, glancing over the pot on the range and sniffing the air appreciatively.

‘I’ll stay for a meal, then me father should be mended,’ the child conceded grudgingly, but Sarah saw the tears glistening in his eyes before he blinked them away.

‘Come along, young man,’ Mrs Daws said in that encouraging voice she used on such occasions. ‘We’ll get you cleaned up and then you can have something to eat. Everything will look better once you’ve got a nice hot meal inside you.’ She grabbed a towel from the pulley and ushered him outside.

As the door closed behind them, Sarah looked askance at the master. Despite the early hour, he appeared shattered and, unusually for him, a little dirty.

‘Nasty accident at the foundry,’ he explained. ‘Mr Smith, Solomon’s father, has been taken to the infirmary, badly burned and not conscious. I was on my way here when Sergeant Watts collared me and asked if we could take the boy in. Little blighter had other ideas, though, and put up quite a fight, insisting he could look after himself. Bit me so hard, he drew blood.’ He held up his hand so that Sarah could see patches of dark red mixed with grime.

‘I’d best bathe it,’ she said, hurrying over to the sink and wringing out a cloth.

‘You’d make a good nurse, Miss Sullivan,’ he teased, then winced as she gently dabbed it with iodine.

‘Hold still, you baby,’ she chided. ‘I suppose such a job would have its benefits,’ she chuckled, enjoying her advantage over the handsome schoolmaster. ‘There, no dressing needed. What about Solomon’s mother?’

‘According to Watts, she upped and left years since, saying she’d had enough of living in dirt and squalor.’

‘That must have been hard on the boy. How long do you anticipate him staying?’

‘To be honest they’re not expecting the man to survive,’ Harry sighed.

Mrs Daws, who’d come back into the room, shot Sarah one of her knowing looks. ‘Happen the crows were right then,’ she muttered. Sarah shook her head, amazed that such a sensible woman should believe in the old sayings. ‘I left April helping Mrs Laver clean up the urchin. Thank the Lord, she had to come back today to finish off the laundry. Like a wild animal he was when he saw the copper full of hot water. Took both of them to prise those filthy rags off him. Said he didn’t want no females pawing at him. Wasn’t about to be parted from his precious bundle either, insisting they weren’t to touch it.’ She went over to the range and stirred the pot furiously. ‘Poor little blighter.’

‘Indeed, Mrs Daws,’ Sarah agreed then, hearing footsteps thundering overhead, grimaced. ‘Sounds like the children are up and about so I’ll leave Solomon in your capable hands. As I’m taking the girls’ classes until a new travelling mistress is appointed, I’d better go and make a start on the office paperwork. It means I won’t have as much time to help you, though, I’m afraid.’

‘Always managed before,’ the housekeeper said philosophically.

‘I have an invoice here from Bert for the work he did converting the front bedroom into another dormitory for the girls,’ Harry Higgins said, looking at her ruefully. ‘He’s held it back for as long as possible but …’ He shrugged and followed her through to her office.

‘I know, and it isn’t fair to keep him waiting for his money any longer,’ Sarah agreed, remembering the handyman lived from hand to mouth. ‘It’s just that the budget we set for the first quarter has already gone to the wall and now there’s another child to accommodate. Although we did say we wouldn’t take in any more children, I don’t like the thought of not being able to help Solomon, but …’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t suppose the orphanage could have him?’

‘I’m afraid not. With the deaconess still indisposed and her school closed, they are full to capacity. Besides, it was you who suggested we shouldn’t take in any more children.’

‘Only because we’re trying to juggle the finances for those already here,’ Sarah replied quickly. As Harry’s hazel eyes searched hers she felt a pang of guilt. How could she be worrying about money when poor Solomon was likely to be orphaned within the day? After all, wasn’t that why her godfather had opened his home, to help those children who desperately needed care? If only that invitation to meet with the school’s benefactress would arrive. Although they were desperately trying to raise funds themselves, she couldn’t deny that some financial assistance in the interim would help.

‘You’re right, of course. We’ll do our best for Solomon, the same as we do the others,’ she said, unable to tear her gaze away from his face.

‘Don’t worry, Sarah, we’ll manage,’ he said, patting her hand. At his touch, the familiar tingle travelled up her arm and she smiled. ‘It’s not only the budget that has gone to the wall, is it?’ he asked softly. ‘Things have been so hectic recently, we’ve yet to share that fish supper we promised ourselves. It’s high time we remedied that, so, Miss Sullivan, will you do me the honour of escorting me into town on Saturday night?’

At his formal tone, a giggle bubbled up in her throat but, not wishing to upset his manly pride, she forced it down.

‘I thought you’d never ask, Master Higgins,’ she replied coyly.

‘Good. Now that’s arranged, I really must go and see how Mrs Daws is coping with our Tuesday child, as you’ve called him. I fear Solomon’s not going to be an easy pupil and will probably need caging in class. Only joking,’ he added when he saw Sarah’s look of alarm. ‘Talking of classes, I can be flexible with my timetable until the new mistress is appointed, so which afternoons will best suit you to take the girls?’

‘Thank you, Harry,’ she said, touched by his thoughtfulness. ‘As you know, I intend working on boosting their self-esteem so that when they leave here they will have a chance of securing decent employment. Amelia has done a wonderful job of teaching them their stitches and I want to capitalize on that by showing them how to adapt the donated clothing to fit. Apart from their school smocks, most of them have never had their own outfits and they are excited at the thought. If it’s all right with you, I would like to increase their sewing lessons to three afternoons each week, starting this afternoon.’

Harry chuckled. ‘Those girls have really grown on you, haven’t they?’

‘I can’t deny I’ve become fond of them,’ she admitted. ‘It’s a tough world out there, especially for females. One way or another, they’ve had a hard start in life and I want to ensure we do as well as we can for them whilst they are here. Sewing could be the best chance for some of them to gain financial independence when they leave.’

‘Very commendable, Miss Sullivan. I’ll see the boys receive comparable tuition, though not in needlework, of course, otherwise they’ll be complaining the girls are getting preferential treatment and that would never do. You’d better use the classroom rather than the workshop, though. The boys are in the middle of making coops for the chickens and there’s wood and sawdust everywhere. I hope this extra work won’t make you too tired to walk out with me on Saturday night?’ He grinned so that she knew he was teasing.

‘I shall think of it as extracurricular homework,’ she assured him, her heart leaping at the thought.

‘Well, I guess that’s better than detention,’ he chuckled.

‘And there’s to be none of your threatened disciplinary methods,’ she warned, shaking a finger at him.

‘I’ll try to remember,’ he promised, his eyes twinkling mischievously. ‘See you at breakfast.’

Hearing his laughter echoing down the corridor, Sarah smiled. She knew the persona of stern schoolmaster he portrayed would be absent away from Red Cliffs and she looked forward to resuming their easy-going banter.

Catching sight of the leather-bound volume on her desk she pulled herself back to the present. The book was entitled Principles for Trading and Profit and had belonged to Mrs Knight, Amelia’s grandmother. Flicking through the pages, Sarah saw they were covered in copperplate writing, as neat as her stitching had been, and contained masses of information the woman had collected during her years as proprietor of her draper’s store. Amelia had thought Sarah might find it useful, insisting the old lady would have wanted her to have it. Knowing she’d been a shrewd and successful businessperson, Sarah hoped she might glean some wisdom on how to save Red Cliffs. Turning back to the first page, she began reading.

The only way to succeed in business is for income to exceed expenditure. It is essential therefore the proprietor be aware of the total running costs of the establishment.

First Principle (a): Set a Budget for Expenditure and Endeavour to Keep Within It

Well, she’d failed in that already, for although she and Harry had sat down and worked one out at the beginning of the year, the bills were flooding in faster than funding became available. Finding money to keep going was an ever-present headache. Now they had another pupil to care for and she daren’t even think of the roof that needed repairing. With a sinking heart she read on.

First Principle (b): If outgoings should exceed income, find a way(s) to address the shortfall sooner rather than later either by increasing income or reducing costs. Only by doing this can you keep your business a viable proposition.

Outgoings were definitely exceeding income at the moment so what options did she have? There was the offer from the developers, of course, but she was adamant the magnificent house that had been her godfather’s home, and which he’d generously opened up as a school for ragged children, shouldn’t be turned into a hotel for the idle rich. Quite apart from that, selling would mean finding new premises and relocating the school. She stared around the shabby yet comfortable room and shook her head. Out of the question.

There was still some funding due from the Local Authority but the forms had only recently been submitted and money from that source would take time to materialize. The garden produce that had been carefully stored, whilst abundant, was only sufficient to feed the school and Sunday soup kitchen, although Harry had got the pupils digging up the lawn at the other side of the house to increase the size of the vegetable plot – an action that had been met with disapproval from some of their neighbours. Although the houses were set well apart, they deemed this to be an up-and-coming area and weren’t backward in voicing opinion that the school lowered the tone.

Mrs Daws had suggested turning the extra produce into chutneys, jams and pickles, which they could sell at the Church Fayre, but that wouldn’t be until much later in the year and besides, the woman had enough to do already.

There was still her forthcoming meeting with Lady Chorlton, whom she had recently been informed was the school’s mystery benefactress, but Sarah was still awaiting her invitation to visit. Her solicitor, Mr Fothergill, had promised to let her know as soon as he received word from the lady but, under the circumstances, Sarah wondered if she dared prevail upon him to instigate an early consultation.

Hearing the gong sounding, she snapped the book shut. Breakfast was always a busy time and with the new arrival to be settled in the housekeeper would need her help. Mrs Knight’s pearls of wisdom would have to wait until later.

2

Opening the door to the kitchen, Sarah saw the girls standing on tiptoe, their noses pressed to the glass as they peered outside. Then she heard the commotion coming from the yard.

‘What on earth is going on?’ she asked.

‘It’s poor Bunter, miss, he’s getting hurt,’ Monday explained, her periwinkle eyes grave as she turned to face Sarah. At six years old, she was a sensitive child who hated any sign of aggression.

‘That new boy’s duffing him up,’ Kitty added. Being a few years older and much tougher, there was nothing she liked more than a bit of action to liven up the day. ‘Coo, he can’t half land a punch.’

‘Now the master’s trying to separate them. Blimey, he’s just caught a blow to his chest,’ Edith gasped.

‘Right, girls, that’s quite enough. Go through to the dining room and stand behind your chairs,’ Sarah instructed.

‘Knew that one’d be trouble,’ Mrs Daws sniffed, as she lifted the pot from the range and set it on the trivet on the scrubbed table. Sarah was about to go to investigate when the door opened and the master came in, holding each boy by an ear.

‘This is not the kind of behaviour I expect from my pupils,’ he growled. ‘Apologize at once or there’ll be no breakfast for either of you.’

‘I only ’ad a wash so’s I got fed,’ Solomon protested. Sarah saw his head was already shaved and his dark eyes appeared large and luminous as they contrasted against the white of his scrubbed skin. In comparison, Bunter was red in the face and panting heavily. ‘And it were his fault,’ he cried, glaring at Bunter. ‘He tried to snatch me things and I told him, me name’s Smith not Sniff.’ He clutched his bundle to his chest defensively.

‘Apologize to Master Smith,’ Harry ordered, staring at Bunter.

‘But he were sniffin’ and he wiped his nose on his sleeve. You said that was a dis … er, disgusting ’abit,’ Bunter informed the master self-righteously.

‘I ain’t stayin’ ’ere to be called disgustin’,’ Solomon said, breaking free from the master’s grip. ‘Like I said, I can take care of meself,’ he shouted, clutching his bundle tighter. He made a sudden dash towards the door, then stopped at the sound of a sharp rap on the knocker. As the helmeted face of Sergeant Watts appeared through the glass, Solomon blanched and stood there looking scared.

‘Right, boys, into the dining room,’ Sarah said briskly. ‘We don’t want that porridge getting cold. Ah, April,’ she added as a red-headed girl emerged from the pantry. An ex-pupil whose facial scar had left her too shy to seek employment in the outside world, April took her position as maid seriously and Sarah knew she could rely upon her to keep the curious girls under control. ‘Please go and supervise the breakfast.’

‘And ask Pip to sit these two miscreants either side of him. Any more fighting and there’ll be trouble,’ Harry added, pushing the boys firmly on their way.

‘Do come in, Sergeant,’ Mrs Daws said, opening the door.

‘I’m afraid I bring bad news,’ the man said, carefully removing his helmet before stepping into the room. ‘I regret to tell you that Mr Smith has been pronounced dead.’

‘’Twere them crows,’ Mrs Daws murmured.

‘Don’t think so, Mrs Daws,’ Sergeant Watts frowned. ‘There’ll be an autopsy to establish the exact cause, though. The man never regained consciousness, which was probably a blessing as his body was burned almost beyond recognition.’

‘Right, girls, this afternoon I’m going to show you how to fashion a new garment from this,’ Sarah told them, holding up a green sprigged cotton dress. After the traumatic morning, they were all on edge and she was eager to restore calm and normality.

‘Are we really going to have our own dresses?’ Edith asked, her eyes bright with excitement.

‘Yes, Edith, using the clothes from the donations box, you are each going to make yourself an outfit to wear. However, before you can begin sewing you need to learn how to carefully unpick the existing garment without cutting into the material, then study its pattern. I’ve chosen this pretty dress to demonstrate how it is done,’ she added, spreading it out on the table.

‘May I join in, miss?’ April asked, bustling into the room. ‘I’ve finished my household chores and Mrs Daws said she could spare me for this lesson.’ She stood staring at Sarah hopefully.

‘Of course, April,’ Sarah smiled. ‘Come in and take a seat. Goodness, whatever is that noise?’ she asked, at the commotion coming from outside.

‘It’s the new boy, Solomon. He’s been kicking up worse than ever since he heard his father died. Mrs Daws reckons it’s best to let him get it out of his system so Master Higgins’ given him an old cushion to bash the living daylights out of instead of the apple tree,’ April told her. ‘He says we must all be extra kind to him while he adjusts.’

‘Yeah, I tried being friendly already,’ Edith nodded. Sarah smiled encouragingly, knowing that the girl’s brash exterior hid a caring nature. ‘I told him it must be awful hearing his father’s been burned to a cinder like that. But he just glared at me and cuddled his bundle like a blinkin’ doll.’

‘Well, I guess his clothes are all he has left …’ Sarah began.

‘More likely ’e’s got his tools in there,’ Kitty remarked. ‘I mean, a workman ’as to look after them or ’e can’t do his job,’ she said, focusing her knowing grey eyes on Sarah.

Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of that, Sarah wondered, marvelling again at the worldly wisdom of this young girl.

‘Like I takes this everywhere,’ Monday piped up, caressing the little globe her father had given her. It lived in the pocket of her smock and she refused to be parted from it. ‘I love ’olding it and would feel ’orrible if it was taken away from me.’

Sarah smiled at the little group. ‘Well, it’s a terrible thing to have happened and we must all do what we can to help young Solomon settle in. Now let’s concentrate on taking this dress apart and whilst we do, perhaps we can remember the “h” at the beginning of our words.’

‘Oh yeah, I keeps forgetting about that,’ Kitty replied.

Thoughts of the new boy were put to the backs of their minds as the girls watched Sarah take up the little implement that enabled the unpicking of seams without cutting into the material. When she’d finished, she spread the fabric out over the table.

‘There ain’t enough there to fit you, miss,’ Edith commented, assessing Sarah with her calculating eye.

‘Well done, Edith. You’re absolutely right and that’s why we are going to remodel this dress to fit April.’

‘Me?’ April squeaked, her eyes wide.

‘Yes, you, April,’ Sarah replied, smiling at the maid’s look of astonishment. ‘You’re the oldest girl here so it’s only fair you should have the first outfit.’

‘She’s a woman, not a girl,’ little Monday piped up, gazing at April so adoringly Sarah felt a pang. Reminding herself she shouldn’t get too attached to any one child, she pulled herself together. Gazing around the little group, she recalled Harry’s words earlier and realized what he’d said was true. She had become extremely fond of them all.

‘Of course she is, silly me,’ Sarah laughed, pulling herself together. ‘Now pass me that tape and we’ll get measuring.’

The girls gathered around again and by the end of the afternoon, the dress had been reshaped and pinned to fit April’s slender form.

‘Now, April, as you’ve seen how to unpick and remodel, you can spend the next lesson sewing while the rest of us work on another garment.’

‘As long as Mrs Daws lets me have the time off.’

‘We’ll be sewing on Saturday afternoons, too, don’t forget,’ Sarah assured her. ‘I know you have free time then.’

‘Oh, yes,’ April replied, then sighed. ‘I just hopes I don’t mess this up with me wonky stitching, miss,’ she murmured, gently stroking the cotton material.

‘I can help if you like,’ Edith offered eagerly.

‘Phew, that’d be a relief. Your stitches all go the right way. I still can’t believe I’m goin’ to have me own dress,’ April replied.

‘Who’s next, miss?’ Ellen asked excitedly.

‘To make it fair, we will work in order of age,’ Sarah replied.

‘That’s me then, miss,’ Maggie shrieked, jumping up and down.

‘Me’ll be an old lady afore it’s me turn,’ June lisped.

‘I will be an old lady before it’s my turn,’ Sarah corrected automatically.

‘Yeah, me an’ all,’ the little girl sighed.

‘As I’m fortunate enough to have my own dresses, I’m happy to wait until last, Miss Sullivan, or even forgo a new one if there’s not enough material,’ Sally offered. Sarah smiled at the earnest ten-year-old. Even though she’d been uprooted from the more salubrious surroundings of the deaconess’s school, and was used to better things, she never complained.

‘That’s kind of you, Sally. However, I’d like you all to learn how to adapt clothing as it will be a useful skill to have. It might even help some of you gain employment. And don’t worry, June, nobody will wear their new outfit until you all have one,’ she assured her.

‘We should have a party then so we can wear them, shouldn’t we, miss?’ Kitty cried.

‘I’m sure we can do something nice to celebrate,’ Sarah smiled, delighted at their enthusiasm. ‘And I’m certain Mrs Daws will show you how to make a special cake. Talking of which, let’s tidy everything away and then we’ll go and see what she has prepared for our supper.’ With the promise of food to come, the girls busied themselves, then left the school room. Outside the air was cold with a stiff breeze blowing in from the sea.

Sarah glanced into the workroom where Harry was helping the boys with their woodwork. It was satisfying to see them all engrossed in their work and she noticed the coops were already taking shape. Five-year-old Luke, Kitty’s younger brother, was contentedly sawing away and Sarah was happy to think he’d settled in so well. Harry glanced her way and the warmth of his smile made her heart jump. But then he looked beyond her, his expression changing to a frown. Turning, she saw Solomon slumped on the grass, his bundle clasped to his chest, a brooding look on his face. Walking over, she crouched down beside him.

‘Want some company?’ Sarah asked softly. He shook his head and turned away but not before she’d seen his red-rimmed eyes. ‘It’s hard losing your father, isn’t it?’ When he didn’t respond, Sarah reached out to pat his shoulder but he shrugged her away. The wind was freshening, bringing with it the tang of salt, and Solomon shivered. ‘It’s time we went inside,’ she told him, getting to her feet. ‘It’s nearly supper time and Mrs Daws will have a nice fire going in the dining room.’

‘Call those few lumps of coke a fire?’ he snorted. ‘We ’ad a real one at the foundry. Red flames with sparks shooting right up to the roof.’ Goodness, Sarah thought, no wonder the place had burned down. ‘It were so ’ot you could fry yer mutton on yer shovel.’

‘Really?’ Sarah gasped. ‘Have you brought your tools with you?’ she asked, gesturing towards his bundle. Immediately, his guard went up and he lapsed into silence once more. ‘Well, I don’t know what Mrs Daws has cooked for us but it’s bound to be something tasty,’ she said brightly. ‘Come on.’ She held out her hand but he ignored it. Gently does it, Sarah, she told herself. Slowly she began to walk towards the house and was gratified when, after a few moments, she heard the crunch of gravel behind her. Then the sound was replaced by squeals of delight as the boys were let out of the workroom.

‘Hey, miss, we’ve made the bestest coops ever,’ Black cried.

‘Yeah, you should see them,’ Brown added as they hared past her, jostling each other in their eagerness to be first into the dining room.

‘How about you, Luke? Are you enjoying making them?’ she asked the boy.

He nodded vigorously. ‘Master ’Iggins said I ’ad a good feel for woodwork,’ he told her proudly. ‘Them coops will soon be ready for the chooks.’

‘Well done, Luke,’ she replied. ‘I’m sure all that work has made you hungry so off you go and get something to eat.’

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Harry chatting amiably to Solomon as he steered him towards the house. The boy looked so sad and lost, Sarah felt a pang of conscience. How could she have even thought of sending him to the orphanage? Not only would he stay, but she’d never even think of turning a child away again. Funding the school might be a constant worry but she was determined to run Red Cliffs as her godfather had. She would make it a viable proposition so the school inspectors could find no cause for complaint when they revisited in May.

Supper passed in its usual manner, the children falling quiet as they devoured their food. Sarah noticed Pip nodding reassuringly at Solomon and marvelled again at the boy’s caring manner. Then as the children busied themselves clearing away and carrying out their chores around the house, Sarah and Harry could at last relax over their cups of tea. It was a time they both enjoyed as they caught up on the events of the day.

‘Judging from the excitement ensuing from the girls’ table, I gather the sewing lesson was a success,’ Harry commented.

‘It was indeed. You should have seen April’s face when she learned the material we were working on was going to be turned into a dress for her. They are planning a party for when their new outfits are ready to wear. From what I saw through the window of the workshop the boys have been busy, too. Even Black and Brown, who as you well know, are not renowned for being industrious, were excited at how well those coops are coming along.’

‘They are almost finished and will soon be ready for their new occupants,’ Harry told her. Hearing the pride in his voice, she smiled. There really was nothing more satisfying than encouraging the children’s creativity. ‘Luke has an amazing aptitude for woodwork and the others are keen not to be outdone,’ he continued. ‘Couldn’t get Solomon to join in but that’s understandable. It’s been a traumatic day for him, poor lad.’

Sarah nodded. ‘Solomon wanted to go to the infirmary and see his father but Mrs Daws managed to persuade him he would want him to remember him as he was.’

‘It was certainly a nasty business. I understand the fire had taken such a hold on the foundry, they had to leave it to burn itself out. Poor Solomon has no home to return to even if he wanted to.’ Harry stared around the room. ‘This place might be shabby but at least he’ll have a roof over his head. Even one that leaks,’ he grinned ruefully. ‘I must confess to being curious as to what’s in that bundle the boy’s been carrying around since he arrived.’

‘I thought it might have been clothes but Kitty reckons it’s more likely to be his tools.’

‘Of course,’ Harry cried, slapping his hand to the side of his head. ‘Why didn’t I think of that? Perhaps I can encourage him to use them to help us finish off the coops tomorrow. Goodness knows, we could do with some decent tools. The ones Farmer Jim loaned us are rusted to ruination, bless him. I’ve tried cleaning them up but …’ He shrugged.

‘How is he?’ Sarah asked.

‘You know Jim: pretends he’s on the mend but we all realize his crushed leg will never heal. I’m taking the boys to help tidy up the farm on Saturday afternoon but he really needs to take on a full-time helper. Bess keeps telling him it’s time he retired but he reckons that’d be the death of him. Between you and me, it’s his beloved cows that keep him going.’

‘Talking of keeping things going, we need to work out another budget,’ Sarah said, getting to her feet.

‘You’re some slave driver, Sarah Sullivan,’ Harry said. ‘Give me one good reason why I should spend another of my precious evenings working?’

‘You mean the prospect of a couple of hours alone in my office with me doesn’t appeal, Master Higgins?’ she teased.

He grinned and jumped to his feet quickly, making her laugh.

‘Your eagerness is gratifying,’ she told him. ‘Not at all, Miss Sullivan. I just can’t abide to see a woman looking down at me. Besides, by your own admission, my grasp of mathematics is so much better than yours. I’ll just check the boys are all right, then I’m all yours,’ he teased.

‘Goodness, there’s no need to go overboard, Master Higgins,’ she replied, gathering up their tea cups. ‘It’s only your brain I’m after.’ She looked up then frowned as Pip came hobbling into the room with a grim expression. ‘Is something wrong, Pip?’

‘I was checking the front gates were locked when I heard this awful banging coming from the workroom. Went to investigate, but by the time I got there whoever it was had scarpered, leaving them chicken coops all bashed up,’ he cried.

‘What?’ Harry growled just as Mrs Daws hurried into the room.

‘Is young Solomon in here?’ the housekeeper asked, peering around as if the boy might be hiding behind one of the chairs.

‘No, Mrs Daws, he isn’t. I’m sure he left the room with the others after supper,’ Sarah replied, exchanging a look with Harry.

‘Well, he must have run off then. I’ve just done a head count before bed and there’s no sign of him or that bundle of his.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Daws. You go back to the kitchen and I’ll take a look around outside,’ Harry replied, grabbing his muffler from the back of the chair.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Sarah offered, but he shook his head.

‘If the children have got wind of this they’ll be bursting with curiosity and Mrs Daws will need a hand supervising them before bed. It’s best we keep them to their routine and should anyone ask about Solomon just say he’s feeling his father’s death and needs time to himself.’

Fighting down her irritation at the way he assumed charge, Sarah managed a curt nod, but he was already striding from the room with Pip hobbling after him.

Linda Finlay

ORPHANS AND ANGELS

PENGUIN BOOKS

1

Torquay, 1901

2