Forgotten Children Read online

  Copyright

  Harper

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  First published in Great Britain by Harper 2015

  Copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers 2015

  Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2015

  Cover photographs © Henry Steadman (children); The Bridgeman Art Library (East End background)

  Cathy Sharp asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780008118440

  Ebook Edition © September 2015 ISBN: 9780008118457

  Version 2015-07-22

  Dedication

  For my wonderful agent, Judith Murdoch, who gave me the chance to write these books, and for my equally wonderful editor, Kate Bradley, for inspiring me.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Read on for a Gripping Extract of the Next Novel in the Halfpenny Street Series, Coming in Spring 2016

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  ONE

  ‘Mary Ellen, I need you,’ her mother’s voice called from the front door of their terraced house as she approached. ‘Hurry up, love …’

  Mary Ellen sighed and walked faster. She’d been all the way to the busy market in the heart of Spitalfields and her basket was heavy with the items her mother had asked her to bring. There was a ham bone, which would be made into soup with some turnips, potatoes, pearl barley and carrots, all of which she’d bought from the market, because they were cheaper, and her arm ached from carrying them.

  She hoped Ma wasn’t going to send her anywhere else until she’d had a drink of water, because it was hot and sticky and she was feeling tired after her long walk. She’d been up at six that morning to wash the kitchen floor and the sink, before going to school for a few hours. After returning home for lunch, Ma had sent her shopping because it was only sports and games in the afternoon, and Ma said she didn’t need to bother with them, though Mary Ellen knew her teacher would give her a black mark next time she attended school; but that might not be for a few days, because Ma had been coughing all night. Mary Ellen had seen spots of blood on her nightgown when she’d taken her a cup of tea before she left for school that morning.

  ‘I’m sorry, love,’ her ma said as she reached the door. ‘You’ll have to go back out for my medicine. I’ve got none for tonight and I can’t seem to stop this …’ She couldn’t finish her sentence because the coughing fit seized her and she sounded terrible. Her body bent double with the pain and her face went an awful pasty white. Mary Ellen could see bright red spots on the handkerchief that Ma held to her lips, and her heart caught with fear. ‘Mary Ellen …’

  Ma gave a strange little cry and then sort of crumpled up in a heap at Mary Ellen’s feet. She bent over her, trying to make her open her eyes, but her mother wasn’t responding.

  ‘Don’t be ill, Ma,’ she said, tears welling up. She didn’t know what to do and she’d been living alone with her mother since her big sister Rose went off to train as a nurse. ‘Please … wake up, Ma …’

  Mary Ellen was conscious of the slightly grubby lace curtains twitching at the neighbouring house, then the door opened and Mrs Prentice came out and looked at her for a moment before asking, ‘What’s up wiv yer ma, Mary Ellen?’

  ‘She’s not well,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘She told me to go for her medicine but then she just fell down.’

  ‘I expect she fainted,’ the neighbour said. ‘I reckon your ma has been proper poorly. Your Rose should be ashamed of herself. You not even nine yet and ‘er goin’ orf and leavin’ her to cope on her own … and you with no pa.’

  ‘Pa died before we moved here,’ Mary Ellen said defensively, because she knew some of her neighbours thought she’d never had a father. Her tears began to spring in her eyes once more. ‘Ma’s never been well since …’

  ‘We’d best get someone to go fer the doctor, and I’ll tell my husband to go round and fetch your Rose when he comes home …’ Mrs Prentice went into her house and shouted and a lad of about thirteen came out and stared at them. His trousers were too big and falling off him and his boots had holes in the toes, but he smiled at Mary Ellen.

  ‘What’s wrong, Ma?’

  Mary Ellen’s mother was stirring. Mrs Prentice signalled to her son and between them they helped Ma to her feet. She stood swaying for a moment, seeming bewildered, and then straightened up.

  ‘I’ll be all right now,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Lil. It’s just the heat.’

  ‘Not from what I’ve seen,’ Mrs Prentice said. ‘Get orf and fetch the doctor to her, Rip, and then yer can cut orf down the Docks and tell yer father to fetch Rose O’Hanran back tonight.’

  ‘No, you mustn’t,’ Ma protested faintly. ‘Rose is busy; she hasn’t got time … and I can’t afford the doctor …’

  ‘Likely he won’t charge yer, as long as it’s all goin’ ter be free soon, that’s what the papers say anyway, though I’ll believe it when I bleedin’ see it,’ Mrs Prentice said. ‘Go on in, Mary Ellen, and make yer ma a cup of tea. I’ll bring her in and settle her down and then you can go and fetch that medicine.’

  Mary Ellen nodded. The last thing she wanted was another walk to the High Street, but she had to go, because Ma needed it.

  ‘
Ma, you’re ill.’ Rose’s voice was sharp and the sound of it sent a tingle down Mary Ellen’s spine as she sat on the bottom stair behind the half-opened door into the kitchen, listening to her mother and sister. She was supposed to be in bed. ‘You’ve got to see the doctor. You can’t go on like this – and you know I can’t come home and look after you. I’m taking my final exams next week and if I miss them I’ll have to do at least another term and perhaps an extra year.’

  ‘I don’t expect you to come home,’ Ma said, sounding weary and defeated to Mary Ellen’s ears. ‘I saw the doctor weeks ago, Rose. He did some tests and it seems I have consumption. According to Dr Marlow I’ll have to go to an isolation hospital in Norfolk, by the sea – and what is going to happen to Mary Ellen then?’

  Mary Ellen stiffened. No one knew better than her how tired Ma was; she’d been neglecting all the things she’d once taken pride in and that included looking after her younger daughter. It wasn’t that her mother didn’t care; Mary Ellen knew she was loved, but Ma couldn’t raise the energy to fetch in the bath and see that her daughter was clean. Instead, she told her to wash in the sink and got cross if Mary Ellen’s clothes were dirty too soon. Instead of baking pies and cakes and making delicious stews, she gave Mary Ellen three pennies to fetch chips and mushy peas from the pie shop most days.

  Mary Ellen was hungry all the time and Ma said there was no money to buy good food, because Pa’s employers had stopped paying the pension they’d given her. Mary Ellen didn’t understand why it had happened; she just knew that her mother could barely manage. Pa’s firm had said because of the accident Ma was entitled to a generous amount, but now it seemed they’d changed their minds and they’d cut it to just a pound a month. They’d offered her a job cleaning offices but Ma was too ill to work.

  Mary Ellen thought Ma’s illness had got much worse in the past few weeks. At first it had been just a little cough, but now she coughed all the time and there were sometimes spots of blood on her mouth. Rose didn’t come home often so she didn’t see how tired Ma looked; she wasn’t the one who had to scrub the kitchen floor and wash their clothes in the copper in the scullery. Ma tried to help her with the mangle but she was so tired afterwards that she had to go to bed. It was Mary Ellen who had to peel vegetables when they did have a proper meal, and her mother just watched her as she put the pans on the stove and told her when the soup was ready.

  She didn’t mind helping out, but because of her mother’s illness Mary Ellen had missed school three times this week and two the week before. If they weren’t careful the inspector would be knocking at their door and Ma would be in trouble.

  ‘Mary Ellen will have to go into a home,’ Rose said and the determination in her words sent chills through her sister. ‘I’ve got a couple of days off after I’ve taken my exams next week. I’ll come and arrange to take her in myself, to that place in Halfpenny Street – and you must agree to go away for that treatment.’

  In the semi-darkness, Mary Ellen hugged herself, tears trickling down her cheeks. She didn’t want to be sent away; she wanted to be with her mother and look after her. Forgetting that she was supposed to be in bed, she jumped up and rushed into the kitchen, temper flaring.

  ‘I won’t go away and nor will Ma,’ she cried. ‘You’re mean, Rose O’Hanran. I hate you.’

  ‘Oh, Mary Ellen, love,’ her mother said. ‘You should be in bed. You don’t understand. Rose is only trying to help us. I can’t look after you properly … you would be better in St Saviour’s, if they’ll take you.’

  ‘I’ll go round and ask Father Joe if he thinks they’ll take her,’ Rose said. She looked at Mary Ellen in the yellowish light of the gas lamps and sighed. ‘Your hair could do with a wash, child. Come here, and I’ll do it before I go and see Father Joe.’

  Grabbing Mary Ellen’s arm and ignoring her protests that she’d washed her own hair only two days previously her sister filled a jug with water from the kettle and added cold, then bent Mary Ellen’s head over the sink and poured the water, rubbing at her hair and scalp with the carbolic soap they used for everything.

  ‘Your neck is as black as ink …’

  ‘Liar! I washed it this week …’ Mary Ellen retorted.

  ‘Well, you didn’t make much of a job of it.’

  ‘I hate you, Rose.’

  ‘Stop quarrelling, the pair of you,’ Ma said wearily.

  ‘I shan’t come back when I’ve been to see Father Joe,’ Rose said as she rubbed at Mary Ellen’s head, her nails scratching as she bent to her task. She poured out the rest of the jug, washing away the soap and making Mary Ellen gasp because it was too cold and the soap stung her eyes. ‘I need to get some sleep and I’ve got to work on my revision every day. I don’t want to fail my exams after all the work I’ve put in …’

  Mary Ellen’s eyes watered. She didn’t want Rose to come back home, because in that moment she hated her. Rose was selfish and mean and they didn’t need her, because Mary Ellen could look after her mother.

  Rose was giving her hair a rough rub with the towel. Next, she took a comb and began to pull the teeth through the long hair, making Mary Ellen yell because it tangled and hurt her.

  ‘Don’t make such a fuss,’ Rose said crossly. ‘You’re not a baby.’

  ‘I can do it myself,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘You’re a brute and a bully, Rose. Just go back to nursing and leave us alone. I’ll look after Ma.’

  Rose looked at her and her face softened a little. ‘You’re not old enough, love,’ she said in a kinder tone. ‘You’ve done your best, Mary Ellen, but you’re not nine yet and you need to go to school. Ma told me how you make her a cup of tea before you go and do as much of the work as you can when you get back – but you’re missing school and Ma will be in trouble if it continues. I’m sorry, but you will have to go into a home – just until Ma is better. You do want her to get better?’

  ‘Yes.’ Mary Ellen looked at her mother in alarm. ‘Ma … I don’t want to go to that place …’

  ‘I know you don’t, love. Come here.’ Her mother held out her arms. ‘I don’t want to go away either, but Rose is right. I am ill and if I stay I could make you ill too – so they will make me go soon even if I try to stay. You do as Rose says. Rose, give me that comb.’ She took it and began to smooth it through Mary Ellen’s hair without pulling anywhere near as much. ‘You get off, Rose. I’ll see the doctor tomorrow and make arrangements to go to that hospital … and you can ask at St Saviour’s if they’ll take our Mary Ellen …’

  Mary Ellen’s throat was tight and painful, but she knew it was useless to resist. Ma’s illness was getting worse all the time and neither of them had enough food to eat. It was summer now but in the winter this damp old house would make Ma’s chest even worse.

  Holding back her tears, she bowed her head, accepting defeat. ‘I’ll do what you want, Ma,’ she said.

  ‘There’s my good girl,’ her mother said and kissed the top of her head. ‘I’ll put some milk on and we’ll have a cup of the cocoa Rose brought us. It was good of her, wasn’t it?’

  Mary Ellen nodded. ‘Yes, I like cocoa.’

  ‘You like ham too,’ Rose said and smiled at her. ‘When I come on my day off I’ll bring some ham and tomatoes. You’ll like that, won’t you?’

  Ham was a rare treat these days, because even if you had the money it was hard to find in the shops, but the manager of Home and Colonial, the grocers where Rose had worked until she left to train as a nurse, had a soft spot for his former employee and he would find her a couple of slices.

  ‘Yes, I’ll like that,’ Mary Ellen agreed, but a slice of ham and tomatoes wouldn’t make up for the way she was being cast out of her home … it wouldn’t take away the grief of losing her mother and not knowing if she would ever see her again.

  ‘Wotcha! Lovely day, ain’t it?’

  Mary Ellen O’Hanran ignored the cheery greeting as the delivery boy whizzed by her on his shop bicycle. Ma would say he was common and tell her to ignore th
e likes of Bertie Carter. Even though they were forced to live in the dirty little houses crammed close to the Docks, they did not have to lower their standards.

  ‘You know better, Mary Ellen, and don’t you forget it. We may live here, but we came from better things and one day we’ll be back where we belong,’ her mother had used to say when they first came to Dock Lane, but that was nearly four years ago, just after her father had died and her mother had still been fit and healthy.

  Even the last rays of a late summer sun could not cheer the grime of the dingy street, its narrow gutters choked with rubbish. Peeling paint on the doors of terraced houses and windows that were almost uniformly filthy from the dirt of the slums were at odds with the spotless white lace curtains at number ten Dock Lane. A scrawny tabby arched its back and hissed at a scavenging rat amongst the debris, and the cheeky delivery boy whistled loudly as he swerved to avoid two snarling dogs fighting over a scrap of food further down. He waved as he turned the corner of the narrow lane, before disappearing out of sight. Mary Ellen stared after him, a small, lonely figure with her fair hair curling about a thin, pale face in wayward wisps that had escaped from her plait.

  A single tear trickled from the corner of her eye but she dashed it away with her hand, refusing to give in to the feeling of misery that kept threatening to overcome her, because Ma had shouted and told her to keep out of the way. Ma never shouted, but she was so tired, at the end of her tether. She was lying down on her bed after another bout of terrible coughing, her face so pale and drawn that Mary Ellen was afraid she might collapse again. In the distance, the towering cranes on the East India Docks and the smoking chimneystacks of merchant vessels out on the river were outlined against a clear sky. The sound of a ship’s horn blasted suddenly through the mean streets and the foul stench from the oily water had worsened with the heat of the day. The noise of the trams clanging their way through the main thoroughfare echoed in the stillness of the unusually quiet lane. For once there were no gossiping women standing at their front doors, the heat having driven them all inside, thick lace curtains closed to shut out what had been a relentless sun.