Thursday’s Child. Noel Streatfeild
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it was better to leave the question of her baggage to Matron. She looked coldly at Margaret.
‘You are, I suppose, Margaret Thursday.’
‘That’s right,’ Margaret agreed. ‘Of course, Thursday isn’t my real name. I was called that because that was the day the rector found me and …’
Miss Jones pointed to the bench on which she was sitting.
‘That’s enough talking, sit down quietly.’ Then she said to Hannah: ‘You can go now.’
Both Margaret and Hannah forgot Miss Jones. They gazed at each other with stricken faces.
‘Oh, my dear pet!’ said Hannah, holding out her arms. ‘Oh, my dear pet!’
Margaret put down the basket and ran to her.
‘Hannah! Hannah! Don’t leave me.’
Hannah, with tears rolling down her face, knelt and hugged her.
‘You got some stamps,’ she whispered, ‘the rector gave you. Bear it if you can, dear, but if you can’t you write and something might be thought of.’
Margaret hugged Hannah tighter.
‘Don’t leave me. You can’t! You can’t!’
Hannah knew every minute she stayed made things worse for Margaret. She freed herself from her clinging arms and, blinded by tears, stumbled towards the door. Margaret tried to run after her, but Miss Jones had stood enough. She grabbed Margaret by the wrist and picked up the wicker basket.
‘Sit down and behave yourself. I never saw such a display. You wait until Matron hears of this.’
‘Hannah! Hannah!’ screamed Margaret.
But Hannah was gone and the door had shut behind her.
Miss Jones was furious. There were others in the waiting room and they were looking pityingly at Margaret. It was too much, making her look like the wicked stepmother in a fairytale when really she should be admired.
‘Be quiet,’ she said in an angry whisper. Then, raising her voice for the benefit of the others in the room: ‘This is a very ungrateful way to behave for you are a lucky girl to be going to St Luke’s.’
At that moment there was a diversion. The waiting-room door opened and three more children came in – a girl and two boys. They were shabbily dressed in black and each was as golden-haired as Margaret was brown. The eldest, who was the girl, led her brothers towards Miss Jones. In spite of the shabby clothes, she had evidently known better days for she spoke in the clear voice of the well-educated.
‘Are you the lady from St Luke’s?’
Miss Jones nodded.
‘You must be the three Beresford children.’
‘That is correct,’ the girl agreed. ‘I am Lavinia. This’ – she pulled the elder boy forward – ‘is Peter, and this’ – she tried to pull forward her younger brother – ‘is Horatio,’ but Horatio refused to be pulled.
‘Don’t like that lady,’ he announced. ‘Horry wants to go home.’
Miss Jones made tch-tching noises. This really was her unlucky day. Now another child was going to make a scene. But she had reckoned without Lavinia.
She let go of Horatio’s hand and felt in her coat pocket and brought out a sweet and put it in the little boy’s mouth.
‘You mustn’t mind him,’ she told Miss Jones. ‘He’s only little, but he’ll settle down.’
Miss Jones opened her coat to look at her watch, which was fixed to her blouse with a gunmetal bow. Thankfully she saw it was time to eat.
‘Now sit down, all of you, and have some dinner. We have a long journey ahead of us.’ She opened the dinner bag and took out the food and a knife. She cut five slices of bread, smeared on a little margarine, then on each slice she placed a small knob of very dry cheese. She passed a slice to each of the children. Horatio looked in disgust at his slice.
‘Is this meant to be dinner?’ he asked.
Lavinia put an arm round him.
‘Eat it, darling,’ she whispered. ‘Then you shall have a sweetie.’
Margaret had received her slice but she made no effort to eat. She had succeeded in stopping crying except for an occasional hiccuping sob, but she had such a lump in her throat she knew she couldn’t swallow anything.
Lavinia, taking advantage of a moment when Miss Jones was repacking the food and the knife, leant across to Peter.
‘Put the little girl’s slice in your pocket,’ she whispered. ‘She’ll be hungry later on.’
Somehow the other children had got the food down them. Miss Jones took another look at her watch. She got up.
‘Come along,’ she said. ‘Pick up that basket, Margaret, and hold my hand. You three,’ she told the Beresfords, ‘follow me and be sure to keep close.’
In the train Margaret began to feel better. Presently she felt so much better she was able to eat her bread and cheese, now rather hairy after being in Peter’s pocket. They had a reserved compartment and Miss Jones sat in a corner as far from the children as possible, so in a whisper Lavinia and Margaret exchanged information.
‘I’m not going to St Luke’s except for a few days,’ Lavinia explained. ‘There were only vacancies for the boys. Anyway I’m fourteen, so I’m going into service somewhere near so I can see the boys on my half days.’
Margaret could not imagine Lavinia in service, she was not a bit like Hannah or that poor Martha at the school.
‘Will you like being in service?’
‘I want to learn how to run a house,’ Lavinia explained.
Peter broke in.
‘Our mother said you could never give orders if you didn’t know how a house should be run.’
Margaret had not supposed orphans gave orders, so Peter’s statement cheered her. She knew that she would be a giving-orders sort of person, but it was nice to think she would not be alone. Then she had another cheering thought. Perhaps if she made friends with these children Lavinia would see her as well as her brothers on her half days.
‘I’m ten, nearly eleven,’ Peter told her. ‘How old are you?’
‘I’m nearly eleven too,’ said Margaret. ‘How old is he?’ She pointed to Horatio.
‘It’s rude to point,’ said Horatio, ‘but if you want to know I’m six.’
Peter was determined Margaret should be well informed.
‘Our mother’s dead,’ he announced.
‘Yes, I suppose she is, and your father too,’ Margaret agreed, ‘or you wouldn’t be orphans.’
Peter started to answer that, but Lavinia evidently didn’t want him to.
‘No, we wouldn’t be, would we? Now tell us about you.’
‘Well,’ said Margaret, ‘I’m not properly an orphan. I was found on a Thursday in a basket on the church steps with three of everything of the very best quality.’
The Beresfords were thrilled.
‘How romantic!’ said Lavinia.
Peter looked admiringly at Margaret.
‘So you could be absolutely anybody?’
‘That’s right,’ Margaret agreed.
‘And until this Christmas every year gold money was left in the church in a bag to keep me.’
‘And nobody saw who left it?’ Lavinia asked.
‘Never.