Anne Douglas (4 page)

‘They sometimes have meals in Miss Bryce’s room,’ Cassie told her, ‘though they always have breakfast here and say prayers with us. The three ladies over there are on the staff. There’s Miss Carmichael, who’s the matron, and Miss Donner – she’s in charge of the senior girls, and Miss Anderson, who looks after the younger ones. Miss MacLaren sees to our uniforms and pretty much everything else.’

‘Am I a senior? I’m eleven.’

‘So am I. No, we’ll be seniors next year. For now we’ve got Miss Anderson.’

‘So many names,’ sighed Shona. ‘I’ll never remember ’em all.’

‘You will, you will! But now I have to go and help with the rest of the tea. We all do a turn at fetching in from the kitchen, you ken, and serving.’ Cassie smiled. ‘It’s treacle tart tonight.’

‘Boys take a turn as well?’

‘Oh, yes, they’ll be bringing in the custard! But you’ll be let off till tomorrow, I expect.’ Cassie rose. ‘Want to stay here then, till I bring the puds?’

‘I’m no’ sure I want any treacle tart.’ Shona put her hand to her brow where a headache was beginning to beat. ‘I feel . . . sort of weary, all of a sudden.’

‘And you look awful pale,’ Cassie said sympathetically. ‘Why’d you no’ ask if you can go to bed early?’

‘Oh, no, I’d better not.’ Be alone in that echoing dormitory, waiting all the time to hear the other girls come tearing in? No, Shona didn’t want that. ‘Do you think they’d let me go outside for a bit? I’d like to be in the fresh air.’

‘Och, just you go! Nobody’ll miss you if you’re no’ gone too long. Come on, I’ll show you a side door.’

‘Thanks, Cassie, you’re very kind,’ Shona said earnestly when Cassie had hurried her to a side door that led to the gardens. ‘As long as I don’t get you into any trouble.’

‘No, no. If they saw us leave the dining room, they’ll just think we’ve gone for the puds – and I’m off now. Go on, then, Shona. Have a wee walk round the gardens. They’re lovely, eh?’

Oh, they are, thought Shona, moving out into the warm, scented May evening and looking at the lawns and shrubs, the trees in full leaf, the rose beds where the buds were just waiting to burst into flower. She would be sure to feel better now.

The awful thing was that she didn’t. If anything, she felt worse. Not ill, but overcome with such yearning for home, for her life with her mother, for her mother herself, that she had to put her hand to her aching heart. Instinctively, she turned away from the windows of the house so that she would not be seen and, still holding her heart, moved across the drive to a bench under a tree, where she suddenly began to cry.

Oh, wasn’t it the last thing she should be doing? Crying, so that when she went back into the house, everyone would see her reddened eyes and Archie Smith would probably shout something about it, and Julia would make remarks. But she couldn’t stop, and didn’t even have a hankie in the pocket of her new cardigan. How strange it was, to be sitting in this lovely garden and to feel so bad! Or, maybe not so strange, after all, for she had reason enough to feel as she did. Which didn’t make her feel any better.

‘Hallo,’ a voice suddenly said, breaking into her desolation. ‘This won’t do, will it? There’s no crying allowed, you know, in this garden.’

Through her mist of tears, she made out a young man standing before her. He was tall and thin, wearing a light jacket and flannels. He had dark brown hair, very thick and very unruly. His eyes were a vivid blue and his smile so friendly, her tears started up again and began to run down her cheeks, at which he passed her a large linen handkerchief. Coming to sit next to her on the bench, he watched her wipe her eyes but shook his head when she tried to return the handkerchief.

‘No, you keep that. But tell me what’s wrong, won’t you? Can’t be so bad to need all these tears.’

She looked away, dabbing again at her eyes. ‘It’s my first day here,’ she whispered. ‘I’m missing home.’

‘Ah, I know what that’s like. Went through all that at boarding school. Blubbed my head off.’

‘But you weren’t the only new one, eh?’

‘No, but some of us minded more than others – leaving home, I mean.’

‘Were your folks still at home when you went back for the holidays?’

‘Only my father. My mother died when I was small.’

Shona stared intently into his pleasantly open face. ‘So’s my mother dead,’ she said at last. ‘She died of the Spanish Influenza. And my dad never came back from the war.’

The young man lowered his bright gaze. ‘That’s hard,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s very hard. Listen, what’s your name, then?’

‘Shona Murray. I come from the Dean Village.’

‘I’m Mark Lindsay. I live not far from here. My dad’s the doctor for the orphanage.’

‘Are you a doctor, too, then?’

‘Me?’ He smiled. ‘No, I’m just a medical student – got back to studying after the war. Dad said I could come along to see one of his patients here, but then he told me to wait for him while he had a word with the lady in charge.’

‘Miss Bryce.’

‘That’s the one. I’ve been looking round the gardens because I like gardens and this is a good one.’

He suddenly stood up and extending a hand to Shona pulled her up, too. ‘Would you like me to show you something that I’m sure will cheer you up?’

She looked around, hesitating. ‘I think maybe I should go back to the house. I’m no’ even supposed to be out here.’

‘Come on, won’t take a minute.’

Giving in to the curiosity that seemed to have stemmed her tears, she followed him from the bench to another corner of the garden well away from the house. And stopped, staring in wonder at one of the strangest trees she had ever seen.

It was quite tall and beautifully shaped, its branches fanning out from a slender trunk as regularly as from a Christmas tree, but what made it different from any other trees Shona knew were the flowers that hung in rows from its branches. These were made up of pure white petals with a reddish centre, yet seemed to be not flowers, but leaves. How could that be?

She stared, she went close, she touched the flowers that were leaves, then turned to Mark Lindsay, who’d been watching her with a smile. ‘I don’t understand,’ she told him. ‘Are these leaves, or flowers?’

‘You might say both. What you’re seeing are something called bracts – they’re leaves that bear flowers. And these remind some people of doves’ wings and they call the tree the Dove Tree. But others think they look like handkerchiefs, and they call it the Handkerchief Tree. Which is what my father calls it and he has one in our garden – that’s how I know about it.’

‘It’s beautiful,’ Shona said, her large eyes still dwelling on the tree. ‘I’m glad you showed it to me.’

‘I wanted to. I thought it might take your mind off your troubles – at least for a little while.’

‘It has. I do feel a bit better.’

‘Time’s what matters. With every day that passes, things will get easier, I promise you.’

She nodded, turning away. ‘I must go back now. Hope no one’s missed me.’

‘We’ll walk back together. I have to see if Dad’s ready to go yet.’

‘Do you think you’ll come here again – to see people?’

‘No. I’m in Glasgow, mostly, at the university medical school. Just happened to be here this weekend when Dad had this unusual case – rheumatic fever with complications. He’s arranging for the patient to be admitted to hospital.’

‘Oh.’ Shona shivered, thinking maybe her troubles were not so bad compared with those of the poor orphan facing hospital. And it was true, she did feel a little better anyway, having seen that beautiful tree.

‘Is it foreign?’ she asked, as they neared the house. ‘The Handkerchief Tree?’

‘Yes, it comes from China. The first specimens were brought over in 1904. Folk probably thought they wouldn’t survive, but they did. See how well the tree’s done here, and ours is the same. My dad’s pride and joy.’ Mark grinned. ‘And here’s my dad now.’

An older man with a look of his son, except that his shock of hair was grey not brown, was coming out of the front door, a medical bag in his hand.

‘Good timing, Mark!’ he cried. ‘Let’s get the car.’ His eyes moved to Shona, now desperately trying to remember how to get back to the side door, and he gave a kindly smile. ‘But who’s this?’

‘This is Shona,’ said Mark. ‘She’s feeling a wee bit homesick, and I’ve been showing her the Handkerchief Tree to cheer her up.’

‘And I’ll bet it did, eh? Grand fighter, that tree. Shona, I’ll wish you all the best. You’re in good hands here, I can assure you. Now, we’d better go.’

‘Good luck!’ Mark called, waving his hand. ‘Remember what I told you.’

As the two Lindsays, father and son, made their way down the drive, Cassie came running round the side of the house to grasp Shona by the arm

‘There you are! I thought you’d come back in, I’ve been trying to find you. Miss Anderson wants to see you – better no’ keep her waiting.’

‘Just tell me where to find the side door,’ said Shona.

Miss Anderson, young and bright, seemed nice enough, if a little brisk in manner, but had so much to explain of life at the Lodge that Shona found her eyes glazing and longed to go to bed, even in the dormitory that had depressed her. So much to take in! So many rules and regulations! So many duties, from cleaning wash basins to serving porridge, from remembering to put your laundry out at certain times to making your bed before breakfast and not after.

As for going to school, a special effort must be made at all times to look clean and tidy with well-polished shoes, so as not to let down the Lodge’s reputation. For Shona’s first morning, Miss Anderson herself would escort her and see to the formalities.

‘Be ready tomorrow at half past eight, sharp,’ she ordered, ‘and we’ll walk along with the others. It isn’t far, just down Murrayfield Road. A very nice school with a very good headmaster. You’ll do well, I’m sure. But now, it’s been a long day for you and I think it’s time you were away to your bed. I’ll check later to see that you have everything you need.’

‘Thank you, Miss Anderson.’

‘You’re welcome, Shona.

‘She’s no’ so bad, eh?’ asked Cassie, on the way up to Stirling. ‘Always been very helpful to me.’

‘How long have you been here?’ asked Shona.

‘Since I was nine. My folks died when I was little and my auntie took care of me, but then she died too.’ Cassie’s pretty face was suddenly bleak. ‘So, there was no one. I had to come here.’

‘Same with me.’ Shona explained her own circumstances. ‘But you said it was nice here, eh? You told me I’d be all right.’

‘Aye, that’s right. I was so nervous at first, I thought I’d never remember all the rules and things, but it’s funny, you soon get used to everything.’

Shona hesitated a moment. ‘Is it true they expect all the girls from here to go into service?’

‘Well, I don’t know about expecting it, but most of ’em do.’

‘How d’you like the idea of that?’

Cassie shrugged. ‘Means you get a place to stay. Where else would you find that?’

‘I don’t know, but I’ll find out. Going into service is no’ for me.’

‘You’ve plenty of time to think about it,’ Cassie murmured with a smile. ‘We’re only eleven, remember?’

They had reached their beds in the quiet dormitory, where two or three other girls were sitting chatting. The bell would go at eight o’clock for under twelves, Cassie explained; those older got an extra half hour.

‘So, Julia won’t be here yet?’ asked Shona.

‘Oh, don’t be worrying about Julia. We can always call Miss Anderson if she tries to cause trouble.’

‘It’s just that I’ve met her sort before, at school.’

‘There’s always one like her,’ Cassie agreed. ‘But, listen, while you were with Miss Anderson, an ambulance came to take a lassie to hospital. Queenie Turner, she’s called. Used to be here in Stirling, but she’s got a fever and they moved her out to be on her own.’

‘Poor girl,’ Shona murmured, but said nothing of having heard about the sick orphan already. Said nothing at all, in fact, of having met the orphanage doctor and his son. She unfolded her nightdress, which was of flannel and a standard pattern issued to all the girls, and rubbed her tired eyes.

‘Think I’ll get to my bed now, Cassie.’

‘Aye, let’s run and bag the washbasins before the bell goes, else we’ll end up in a queue.’ Cassie grinned. ‘That’s the trouble with living here – we’re always in queues.’

Tired though she was, Shona couldn’t sleep. There’d been too much happening in that long, long day, and still too much moving round her brain. Being May and in the north, the daylight had not yet completely faded from the dormitory, and she was able to see the photographs of her parents by her bed, taking some comfort in her memories. How quickly, though, she marvelled again, her life had changed! Who would have believed, only weeks ago, that she would be here now in an orphanage bed, wearing an orphanage night gown, surrounded by sleeping girls but feeling so alone?

No, she shouldn’t feel that. Cassie, in the next bed, was already a friend, and no one had been difficult except Julia who, thank heavens, had gone straight to her bed when she came up to the dormitory. No doubt because Miss Anderson had been patrolling around, but at least for that night there’d been no more snappy remarks to cause upset.

And then, if Shona was counting friends, she thought she might number Mark Lindsay, even if she might never see him again, for he had made her feel better, talking to her and showing her the Handkerchief Tree, that lovely tree from China that could settle in strange places. Maybe it was like Shona herself? She hadn’t settled yet, but she was beginning to realize she must. She had no choice.

Though her eyelids were growing heavier she was still wide awake, thinking of so many things, one being that the next day she would find out how she could post a letter to Mrs Hope and Kitty, for they would be worrying about her and had been so kind. She should be grateful: there had been so much kindness.

Why, she had a sign of it right under her pillow, which was Mark Lindsay’s handkerchief. He’d said he didn’t want it back, so maybe she should just keep it and put her own name on it? Yes, she’d do that, but now at last she was yawning and drifting, with all the beds around her receding and drifting, too . . . surely soon she would be asleep?