The Orphan Collection Read online

  Just like me, she thought as she picked up her box once again and headed for the village she could see in the distance, Middlestone Moor. My new life starts today.

  Passing through Middlestone Moor she saw more people about, miners coming off night shift and others on their way to work. Most of them said, ‘Good morning’ as they passed Ada, attracted by her bright, young face. She had let her shawl slip from her shoulders as the sun became warmer and even her black shirtwaister and serge skirt could not disguise her lovely figure and springing vitality.

  By mid-morning she had reached the small but growing town of Spennymoor. She had to wait half an hour on the platform for the train to arrive and she stood beside her box, trying to look unobtrusive. She began to be fearful that somehow her aunt had found out where she was and sent someone after her, or perhaps had notified the police. A policeman came onto the platform and walked its length, whistling softly to himself as he eyed the few people waiting for the train. Ada shrank back behind a luggage trolley – was he looking at her suspiciously? But no, he passed on, he was simply waiting for the train the same as she was herself.

  ‘Daftie!’ she chided herself, but nevertheless she was very glad when the train puffed into the station and she was able to climb aboard. She found a seat in a third-class carriage and stowed her box on the rack. All the while her heart was beating rapidly. This was the first time Ada had left Bishop Auckland since she was a very small girl. In spite of her optimism, she knew she faced an uncertain future. Determinedly, she gazed out of the window at the fields, woods and rolling hills in the distance.

  The journey was quite short and before she knew it the familiar shape of the cathedral appeared on the skyline. It had an immediate calming effect on Ada. She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and took down her box, gravely refusing the offer of a young workman to help her with it.

  ‘Thank you. I can manage,’ she said and, taking her box, stepped down from the train. She handed her ticket in at the barrier and paused a moment before walking down the hill from the station. The sun was shining on the roofs below, the great cathedral towered over them like a guardian and Ada’s sense of homecoming was almost overwhelming. Here she could begin to rebuild her life.

  ‘Eeh, you mean to tell me you’re Ada Leigh’s little lass? Well! Who would have thought it? But mind, you have a bit of a look like her. The same lovely hair and skin. Have you been living with your mam? Bye, me and your grandma were good friends. I didn’t half miss her when she died, poor thing. No, that’s right, you went to live with your auntie, didn’t you, I remember.’ Mrs Dunne paused for breath before standing aside and motioning Ada forward into the front room which the front door opened directly into. ‘Well, don’t just stand there on the doorstep, hinny. It may be spring but the wind’s still enough to cut you like a knife.’

  Ada looked around her with interest as she went in. The room was furnished with a heavy mahogany sideboard and chiffonier, a whatnot on the wall crowded with knick-knacks, a pottery cottage emblazoned with ‘A souvenir from Whitley Bay’ and a rather fine Linthorpe pottery vase crowded among them. On the wall hung a pair of Sunderland plates with religious texts and a looking glass over the mantelpiece was framed in a dark oak. The walls themselves were covered in a light-brown paper patterned with sprays of faded flowers. The horsehair sofa and armchairs looked hard and uncomfortable and were devoid of cushions. But then, Ada reflected, front rooms weren’t meant to be lived in, they were for show and Sundays.

  Mrs Dunne herself was a sprightly woman of around sixty with birdlike blue eyes and faded, greying hair fastened back in a knot like Auntie Doris’s, but there the likeness ended. Her smile was kindly as she studied Ada with interest.

  ‘Bye, it’s nice to see you again after all this time, mind!’ Mrs Dunne’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. ‘Looking for a place to stay, you said? Left your auntie’s, then?’

  Ada stood awkwardly; she hadn’t yet been invited to sit down.

  ‘Yes, I have,’ she said, then realised Mrs Dunne wanted her reasons. ‘I fancied coming back to Durham,’ she said lamely.

  ‘Aye, well, I dare say it’s nicer than Bishop.’ Mrs Dunne was obviously waiting for more but Ada wasn’t about to satisfy her.

  ‘Yes. Well, I thought I’d get a room first and I thought I’d likely get one along here. I remembered the street, you see.’

  ‘Fancy that! You were only a bairn when your grandma died, bless her soul!’

  ‘I was seven,’ Ada stated. ‘Well, as I said, I thought I’d get a room and then I could look for work. I’ve a bit of money, I can afford to pay rent in advance.’ Ada added the last bit hastily, having noticed the slight frown on Mrs Dunne’s face, and that lady looked suddenly relieved.

  ‘Well, as it happens – and mind, you’re lucky, because I’m usually suited – I could let you have the back bedroom. I had a gentleman in it but he’s gone to work in Darlington. You could give it a try if you like – two and sixpence for the room and no food, or five shillings with your breakfast. What do you think?’

  Ada nodded eagerly, pleased to be settled. This was the third house she had tried in the street and the terms were no more than she had expected to pay.

  ‘Mind, I want it in advance.’ Mrs Dunne had become strictly businesslike.

  Ada delved into her pocket and took out the money. ‘I’ll have breakfast, I think, Mrs Dunne,’ she said. ‘At least at first, till I’ve found my feet.’

  Mrs Dunne took the money with a satisfied air. ‘Howay into the kitchen, pet, I’ll make a cup of tea. Then I’ll show you the room.’ Now that the business part was over, she had reverted to the kindly, gossipy woman who had opened the door. She sat Ada down at the kitchen table and pushed the kettle which had been simmering on the hob, back onto the coals. ‘Mind,’ she said as she worked, ‘no men in the house.’

  Ada looked suitably scandalised at the very idea and Mrs Dunne went on, ‘What was your name, pet? Something fancy, I seem to remember?’

  ‘Oh no, just Ada, I’m called Ada now.’

  I don’t have to be called Ada now, she realised suddenly. If she liked, she could call herself Lorinda. But only Johnny called her Lorinda now, it had become a special name. She wasn’t sure she could bear to hear it from anyone else. A shadow crossed her face; bleakly she thought she had to put all thoughts of Johnny out of her mind, because he was way above her now.

  Mrs Dunne glanced at her in surprise but offered no comment. It was no business of hers, so long as the lass could pay for the room she cared little about the name. She looked up at the mantelpiece where she had put Ada’s money.

  ‘Lucky that you’ve come just now, after the last lodger’s gone,’ she commented. ‘Last month I would have turned you away and then where would we be?’

  Ada said nothing. Hungry after her long walk of the morning, she was just glad of the bread and butter Mrs Dunne put out to have with their tea. Still, she was careful to eat no more than one piece, being sensible of the fact that it was an ‘extra’ and not included in her board.

  Afterwards, Mrs Dunne showed her the bedroom. It was much as she had expected: a single iron bed, a chest of drawers and a washstand on one wall with an enamel jug and bowl standing on the marble top. It was cold and smelled slightly of damp but that was normal too. And the bed had two blankets on it with a Durham quilt on top so it would be snug enough. To Ada it was a haven and she was glad of it. She didn’t even mind the dampstained wallpaper, its dark blue relieved by the heavy red roses printed on it.

  Ada wasted no time in looking for work. As soon as she had unpacked her box and laid her meagre possessions in the chest of drawers she put on her shawl and went out on the quest for employment. She knew it would be a waste of time asking at the university: the academic year would be drawing to a close in a few months and they would be unlikely to be taking on more servants now. But in the better part of the city, on the banks overlooking the Wear, there were many prosperous-looking houses. She decided
she would try as many as she could before dark.

  At three o’clock, her bright hopes were dimmed a little and she felt discouraged and dispirited. She had tried a number of would-be employers, to no avail.

  ‘What do you want, girl? There’s no free handouts here!’

  ‘I’m not looking for a hand-out, I’m looking for work!’ Ada was stung to reply to the red-faced cook who answered at one back door. ‘I’m willing to do anything, washing, ironing, housework –’

  ‘There’s no work here either!’ the cook snapped. ‘We’re well suited with what we’ve got! Now be off with you and stop wasting my time!’

  Ada trudged down the drive and out into the roadway again. Her stomach rumbled and she remembered that she hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, apart from that one piece of bread and butter at Mrs Dunne’s house. Maybe if she found something she could make it do for the rest of the day. It was beginning to look as if her two sovereigns were going to have to last a long time. Abandoning the hunt for work, she turned for Silver Street and a butcher’s shop she had noticed on her way into Durham.

  Once standing outside the shop, breathing in the heavenly smells from the hot pies and pasties, she hesitated. Her mouth watered at the thought of a pie, but she knew it wasn’t sensible to buy one; if she went on at that rate she would soon run out of money. Pushing the temptation out of her mind, she went in.

  ‘Two penny dips, please. And a quarter of hot pease pudding.’ That should fill her empty stomach and last until breakfast-time at Mrs Dunne’s, she thought.

  ‘Mind, you are going to have a feast.’ The butcher was disgruntled; the day was fast turning into evening and he hadn’t sold anything like the number of pies he should have done.

  Ada ignored him. All she was interested in was the small parcel he handed over to her in exchange for her threepence. It might not be a meat pie but it still smelled lovely. She found a sheltered spot down by the Wear and sat down to eat. The pease pudding she put between the two penny dips to make a sandwich; breaking about a quarter of it off to eat later in the evening, she tucked into the rest. Contentedly she gazed out over the river as she chewed, savouring every mouthful. Trout were rising to the evening flies and she watched a lone fisherman on the other side casting his line. With delight she saw a bedraggled water rat scuttling along within feet of her and going ‘plop’ into the water, where he quickly disappeared.

  Bye, it was nice! Ada sighed with pleasure. Now she had eaten she felt more optimistic. She would be all right, she would, someone would take her on! Standing up, she brushed the few crumbs from her skirt and patted her hair tidy. There was time to try again before dark. Only this time, she thought, she would try houses a little less prosperous-looking, where they might have only one live-in servant. It would be people like that who might use a girl like her to do the washing and ironing and maybe the hard scrubbing.

  Ada was right. Within a day or two she found enough work to keep her going. Hard unremitting work, washing and ironing at other people’s houses, but paid work nevertheless. She still had a lot of disappointments, of course – some would-be employers looked dubiously at her slight figure and turned her away – but there were those who were willing to give her a trial, and they found her willingness and capacity for hard work made her well worth the small wage.

  Every weekday morning, she rose early, breakfasted with Mrs Dunne on a good filling breakfast of oatmeal followed by bacon and fried bread, and set out for work. It involved a great deal of walking about the town in between the various houses, but the year was turning into summer and she enjoyed being out in the fresh air.

  For half-a-crown a time Ada would pound clothes in a poss tub in back yards. lifting the heavy stick with the three-branched paddle at the bottom and driving it down again, forcing the soapy water through the clothes. She puffed and panted as she turned the wooden rollers of the great iron mangles and hung out the washing to dry, returning the next day to set flatirons on the hobs of kitchen fires to iron the clothes. She occupied her mind with dreaming about Johnny or sometimes imagining what sort of lives the owners of the house led or what the other rooms looked like. For she never got further than the kitchen in any of the houses she worked in. She bought a postcard and stamp and was going to ask Mrs Dunne to write a message on it for Eliza, but in the end she was too ashamed of letting her landlady know of her inability to read and write. Maybe some day soon she would manage to go to see her friend.

  Happy was the night she returned to her lodging and a tiny worry at the back of her mind disappeared as she undressed for bed. Her monthly had come: she was not carrying Uncle Harry’s bastard.

  ‘I’ll be all right now,’ she said aloud in her relief. She stared into the small fly-spotted mirror of the washstand. ‘And I won’t be a washerwoman all my life, either. You’ll see I won’t.’ Ada smiled at her reflection in the mirror and jumped into bed, snuggling down under the bedclothes, her eyelids drooping at once. For every night she was physically exhausted, but she was managing. Oh yes, she was managing fine.

  Hanging out clothes one morning, a fine summery morning which made Ada feel glad to be alive, she paused for a minute, struck by the beauty of the garden beyond the kitchen enclosure. It was the first time she had worked at this house, she had been recommended to it. It was a square, stone-built house standing on the bank above the river, and belonged to a doctor she knew, Dr Gray.

  A small breeze sprang up and Ada breathed deeply, delighting in the smell of roses and honeysuckle intermingled with that of freshly mown grass and the slightly soapy smell of the clean laundry fluttering on the line. Bye, it was grand! Ada hugged herself and unconsciously moved nearer the garden for a better look.

  A girl of about her own age, fair-haired and delicate-seeming, a bit ‘femmer’ as Auntie Doris would say, was sitting on an ornate garden seat, a cushion at her back, reading a book. Ada watched her quietly. Bye, she was pretty, she thought. Sensing Ada’s eyes on her, the girl looked up from her book and smiled.

  ‘Good morning!’ she called. ‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’

  Ada was so surprised to be noticed by the girl that she blushed heavily. Mumbling a reply, she turned at a rush and went back to her work. The girl, however, had laid down her book and sauntered over to the fence, where she watched Ada’s activities with interest.

  ‘Do you like doing the laundry?’ she asked.

  Ada paused again and looked across at the girl. She had friendly blue eyes and a wide, likeable smile despite her apparent frailty.

  ‘Well, it has to be done,’ Ada answered after a moment. Work was work, she thought, liking or not liking did not come into it.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry – I’m Virginia Gray, what’s your name?’

  ‘Ada, Miss.’

  ‘Hello, Ada. Nice to meet you. I was getting bored by myself. I’m supposed to be getting some fresh air and sunshine, sitting here in the garden. But it is so boring with no one to talk to, don’t you agree?’

  Ada thought about it, considering the question gravely. Boredom was a strange concept to her. It was very, very rarely she had nothing to do, and then she was only too pleased for the tiny respites in her working day. Still, the lady must know what she was talking about, so best agree.

  ‘Yes, Miss Gray,’ she said shyly.

  ‘Oh, Virginia, please. My name’s Virginia, not stuffy old Miss Gray.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Virginia.’

  ‘No, not Miss Virginia, just Virginia,’ she insisted. ‘Well, Ada, let’s have a talk, shall we? You can take a little break, can’t you? Cook won’t eat you! And I’ve been so ill with this wretched pneumonia, I can’t go to school this term. I’m so lonely for most of the day!’

  ‘Well, I don’t know, I’ll have to hang out the washing or it won’t be dry by this afternoon.’ Ada gazed at Virginia, flummoxed at the idea of anyone as old as this girl still going to school. She turned to the line and hung out a fine white linen shirt, watching it catch the breeze and lift in the a
ir.

  ‘Well, go on then, we’ll talk while you work.’ Virginia came through the gate which connected the two parts of the garden and leaned against the fence.

  ‘But what would we talk about, miss?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Do you like to read? What books do you like? What else do you do when you’re not doing laundry?’

  Ada paused, her mouth full of pegs. Here it was again, always her lack of reading embarrassed her. Why was this girl asking her such questions? She noticed the grass stains on the hem of Virginia’s white broderie anglaise dress and sighed – that was more work for her, getting out the stains. The pay was the same whether the clothes were lightly or heavily soiled. Ada turned away and stretched a sheet along the line before replying; she pegged it firmly against the breeze, giving herself time to get over the upset she had no right at all to be feeling.

  ‘I can’t read, miss,’ she said at last, ‘and this is what I do, washing and ironing. When I’m not washing I’m ironing and when I’m doing neither I’m sleeping.’

  Virginia didn’t notice the shortness of Ada’s tone, she was so astounded by the revelation. ‘You can’t read at all?’ she gasped.

  Ada kept her face averted. She didn’t know why she had let out her secret to this girl whom she didn’t even know. But it was done now.

  ‘Not at all. Well, only a tiny bit.’ Ada remembered the lessons long ago with Johnny.

  ‘But didn’t you go to school? Everyone goes to school, it’s the law.’ Virginia still couldn’t understand.

  ‘Well, I didn’t, miss. I was too busy.’

  ‘Busy? When you were a little girl? How could that be?’

  Ada considered the question but decided that she wasn’t going to answer it. She turned again to the basket of clothes, bending over it and taking out a bolster case. In the momentary silence, Virginia remembered her manners.