The Rag Nymph (aka The Forester Girl) Page 10

  It was Annabel’s friendship and her acceptance by the Kirkley family that really kept her in the House of Christ the Saviour, where there was no laughter except in the kitchen with Sister Cecilia and sometimes a covert smile from Sister Aloysius.

  Her stay, however, ended dramatically on the last Friday of January, 1858.

  It was a biting cold morning. The water in the basins had a layer of ice on them, which had to be broken before the children could wash; then in the dining room they sat shivering, for the fire at the end of the room did not take even the chill away.

  In the classroom, Sister Mary’s indiscriminate wielding of the ruler caused a great deal of wincing and tears. The children had been told to write answers to what happened to Jesus in the temple: What did He do there? And what did His parents say to Him when they found Him?

  For Millie, the lesson needed no thinking, for the sister had practically told them what to say, but she wove a story round it as if the incident were happening in Benton Fields at the present time. Unfortunately she made a mistake of naming the church where Jesus was found as St George’s, which happened to be a Church of England edifice.

  After the monitor had gathered up the papers and placed them on the small, square, wooden table that acted as the sister’s desk, the class sat quiet, waiting anxiously for the verdict, a tick or a large cross, the while automatically mumbling Hail Marys. At no time in the day must there be an idle moment or a silent one; any spare time must be filled with prayer.

  The sharp sound of Sister Mary’s hand banging down on the square of writing paper stopped the chanting. She was yelling now, ‘Stupid! Stupid! A waste of good paper. Come out here, you!’

  If the finger had not been pointed, all the class would have known who was being called to face the fearsome sister, and when Millie stood by the side of the nun’s desk, the sheet of paper was immediately thrust into her face with the demand, ‘What do you mean by that? A waste of paper! A waste of good paper. Rubbish! Rubbish! Trying to be clever. Rubbish! And that hair.’ The woman flicked her hand and knocked one of the long plaits from Millie’s shoulder as she continued her tirade: ‘I’ve told you, haven’t I? I told you yesterday, one plait and at the back, and tight. Stand still, girl! Turn round!’ And without giving Millie time to obey, she yelled again, ‘Turn round! Turn round, girl!’ and swung her round by the shoulders, and while holding her with one hand she ripped the pieces of tape from the end of each plait, before she tore at the hair until it hung in uneven strands; then she almost lifted Millie from the floor as, using both hands now, she drew the strands together and began forming them into a tight rope-like plait.

  This done, she whipped up a piece of tape, which she tied some inches from the bottom; then, while still holding on to the hair with one hand, her other hand shot out and pulled open a drawer from which she grabbed a pair of large scissors.

  There was a gasp from the children and a high scream from Millie as the scissors went snip, snip, snip. Flinging herself round and seeing at least three inches of her hair lying on the wooden floor, she yelled, ‘How dare you! How dare you!’ And now she did what she had promised herself she would do, and lifted her foot and aimed it at the nun’s shin. That it had made contact was evident, for Sister Mary let out a cry, a weird sound that was rather a yell than a scream. Then again she was grabbing the plait, screeching now, ‘I’ll cut it off. Right to the scalp. Right to the scalp. You’re wicked! Bad!’

  Some of the children were screaming as they watched the tussle going on between the nun and the girl, whom they secretly admired and envied because she wasn’t afraid of the dreaded Sister Mary.

  ‘You’re evil. Evil. You want shriving.’ The nun had hold of the plait again, while endeavouring amid her screaming to bring her other hand, holding the scissors, down to finish its work. But Millie, her body twisted, her two arms extended, was gripping the woman’s wrists while being tossed to and fro in the struggle, and she too was screaming, ‘You won’t! You won’t!’

  Whether it was Millie’s infuriated strength that caused the woman’s grasp on the scissors to slacken, or that she changed her tactics and meant to direct the scissors towards the child’s face, couldn’t be known, but Millie grabbed at the open blades and, managing to twist them round, consciously or by accident drove one of the blades into the nun’s arm.

  As the scream rent the room the door was thrust open and Sister Monica and Sister Aloysius rushed in, just in time to stop the nun’s hands going round Millie’s throat.

  The room was in an uproar, the children huddled together and all screaming. The big nun’s arms were flailing while the other two attempted to hold her. It was Sister Aloysius who turned her head and cried to one of the bigger girls, ‘Go and fetch Reverend Mother! Take the children. Take them with you. Out! Out!’

  All the children, except Millie, scrambled from the room: she had staggered over to a side wall and was leaning against it, her hands hanging by her side, her mouth wide open to let her gasping breath free.

  ‘I’ll kill her! I will. I will. She should be dead. She’s wicked! Wicked.’ The nun was screaming now at the top of her voice; then for a moment she became still and silent as she looked at a trickle of blood flowing down over her fingers; and she now screeched again. ‘Look! Blood! Blood! She’s evil.’

  ‘Quiet. Quiet, dear.’ Sister Aloysius was wiping the hand now with a piece of rough linen she had taken from a pocket in her habit. ‘It’s all right. Mother will soon be here. Be quiet now. Be quiet.’

  ‘Never! Never! She must be locked up. She’s bad, wicked. And her hair shorn. I’m going to shear her hair. I am, I am. She was born evil. Father Dolan told Reverend Mother all about her, all about her. She’s from the dregs. Her mother was on the streets. I heard him. She took her life…evil. I spoke to God. Two inches at a time, He said, until she is cropped; the vanity is in her hair. Pride, all in her hair. It’s got to come off.’ And as her voice ended on another high scream the door opened and the Mother Superior came in. Her voice was calm as she said to Sisters Monica and Aloysius. ‘Leave go of her.’

  ‘But Mother…’

  She turned her cold stare on Sister Monica, saying, ‘Do as I bid.’

  They did as they were ordered, and when the arms began to flail again Mother Francis brought her hand in a resounding blow across Sister Mary’s face, sending her backwards against the wall, where she stood, quiet now, her mouth agape and froth around her lips. Stepping back and looking at the other two nuns, the Mother Superior said, ‘Take her to her cell.’

  Almost as if leading a child, they took the woman from the room, and the Mother Superior, herself on the point of leaving, turned and looked towards where Millie was still standing riveted to the spot. It was as if she hadn’t been aware of the girl’s presence, but she said, ‘Stay where you are, child. Don’t move,’ and then went out.

  How long Millie stood alone, she didn’t know. There was a continuous whirling of thoughts in her head: Was she evil? Had her mother been evil? What did she mean, her mother had been on the streets? She had heard that term before. It was in some way connected with bad things. But had her mother been evil? And so, was she evil? She wanted Mrs Aggie. Oh, Mrs Aggie, Mrs Aggie.

  When the door opened and Sister Cecilia came in, still wearing her kitchen apron, the whirling thoughts ceased and she said, ‘Oh, Sister.’

  Sister Cecilia held out a hand towards her, saying, ‘Come child, come,’ then led her out of the room, through the corridor, upstairs, and into her cubicle.

  She did not immediately help her to get her things together, but sat on the side of the bed and drew Millie towards her, saying, ‘It’s a sorry day, child. It’s a sorry day,’ then leaning towards her, she said very quietly now, ‘I’m not blaming you, my dear. I’m not blaming you. It is a strange thing, and you will find it more so in our way of life, that some people cannot stand the sight of beauty. It is a joy they’re missing, but it is never revealed to them. Poor dear Sister Mary has never known
joy. You must forgive her.’

  The nun looked away from Millie now and towards the partition as she said in a voice little above a mutter, ‘He bids us come, and if at first we don’t obey Him, His voice is insistent. “Come. Come, my child. You owe me your life,” He says. “Let Me show you how to live it,” but then once you have given Him your life He becomes distant; you have to struggle to touch Him. Yet He said to me, “Cecilia, you have two blessings, you love beauty and cooking. What more could you desire?”’

  Turning to look at Millie again, she ended, ‘But one always wants more: just to see His face in the night, not in plaster; in the flesh. But I tell myself it will come. God’s will be done.’

  She put out a hand and touched Millie’s cheek now, saying softly, ‘I ramble on, child. You don’t understand what I’m saying, yet some of my words might remain with you, for I think you are old enough to understand what I am about to say to you now. Resist evil, my dear, the evil that men do. Do you understand me? Resist the evil that men do.’

  Millie didn’t really understand. Her mind still wanted to whirl, but she would remember the words, ‘Resist the evil that men do.’ And on the thought there came into her mind the picture of the thin-faced man.

  ‘Well now, child; let us pack up your things and let us be ready when your guardian comes. She is being sent for.’

  ‘I…I am to go home?’ She slipped off the edge of the bed as if she had been injected with new life.

  ‘Yes. Yes, my dear, you have to go. And I am very sorry, because you have the makings of a splendid cook. You won’t forget what I have taught you, will you?’

  ‘No, Sister; because I love cooking. No, I won’t forget, ever. Nor you.’

  As she went to put her arms around the nun a gentle hand pressed her back, and the voice, so gentle, said, ‘I…I understand your feelings, child; and I, too, feel…but…but,’ and the voice became rather thick as she ended, ‘we will not demonstrate them.’

  After the bass hamper that had held her belongings was refilled and strapped, Sister Cecilia said, ‘Sit there quiet, my child, until they send for you.’ She paused, and her fingers lightly touched Millie’s cheek, as she said, ‘My prayers will go with you and I shall remember you always.’

  ‘Oh, Sister, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I…I mean…well, I mean, I’m not sorry to leave the school, leave here, but I’m sorry to leave you, and I wish I could see you again. I…I won’t be able to, will I?’

  ‘No, my child, you won’t; but you will always remain in my memory. And you will remember my words, won’t you? Beware of the evil that men do.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, Sister.’

  ‘Goodbye, my child; and God be with you always.’

  Millie sat again on the edge of the bed, her head bowed deep on her chest, the tears running unheeded down her face. Beware of the evil that men do. Beware of the evil that men do. Yes, she would remember those words, and always remember Sister Cecilia.

  Four

  Millie had been home for nearly three months when she received a letter from Annabel. It was the first communication she’d had with her since the day she left the convent ignominously and in dire disgrace. And during that time the house had become brighter in all ways, not only through her cleaning and her presence but also through her cooking.

  She had become expert in at least three dishes while under the tuition of Sister Cecilia: the meat pudding, a lamb stew thickened with lentils, barley and vegetables, and topped with dumplings, and a real piece of expertise: the making of light pastry with either pig’s fat or beef dripping.

  From the time she returned to the house, both Aggie and Ben ate better, lived more comfortably and were happier. Yet their frame of mind was always streaked with anxiety that caused them both to be forever on the watch. They made it a rule that she was never to be alone. If she went out of the yard, which was rarely, one or other would go with her, and they never both left the yard together.

  Although their protection wasn’t evident Millie was conscious of it, and there were times when she felt as hemmed in as she had done during that tortured year or more when guarded by the sisters.

  Then came the letter; and she read it aloud to them:

  ‘Dear Millie,

  My mama asks if you would care to come to tea on Saturday afternoon at four o’clock. Also Mama would like to speak with your guardian about something that may be of benefit to you.

  I miss you very much. I am no longer with the nuns but am to attend a day school. I have such a lot to tell you, and I’m looking forward to our meeting.

  Your friend, Annabel.’

  She looked from Aggie to Ben, and it was Aggie who said, ‘Something that may be of benefit to you. What does she mean by that?’

  Ben was grinning now as he looked at Millie, saying, ‘Perhaps they’re goin’ to adopt you.’

  ‘I don’t want to be adopted, Ben; I’ve been adopted.’ She smiled at Aggie; although Aggie gave her no answering smile, but just said, ‘Well, the day’s Thursday. We’ll have to wait an’ see what the benefit’s goin’ to be…Would you like to go to school again?’

  Millie did not answer straight away; then, thoughtfully, she said, ‘I thought I might like to go to the day school. I mean, like I did before. Yes’—she nodded now—‘yes, I think I’d like more schooling.’

  ‘Why?’

  She turned towards Ben as she answered him, ‘Well, because I know there’s a lot to learn.’

  ‘Can’t see that. You can read a newspaper from beginning to end and you can write better than those fellas who keep the thing goin’. As for talkin’, I would say there are few who could talk better. That’s when’—he poked his head forward, a mischievous grin on his face now—‘you don’t let drop one of those naughty words; you know, like you did yesterday.’

  ‘I didn’t. I didn’t swear. Well…I mean—’ She shook her head, then looked at Aggie, saying now, ‘If you didn’t say it so often, I wouldn’t either.’

  ‘What’s this I say so often?’

  ‘Damn and blast your eyes.’

  ‘I don’t say that very often.’

  Both Ben and Millie now began to laugh and, getting to his feet, Ben said, ‘Know thyself, woman. Know thyself. Anyway, if you’re goin’ to tea with the toffs you’d better get scrubbed down and pick out some decent clothes.’

  ‘There was nothing mentioned in that letter about me havin’ tea.’

  ‘Well, if you’re not invited I won’t stay either. But as Ben says, put on some nice things. There’s…there’s the print frock I let out that fits you. It’s nice. And there’s that nice cape you got last week.’

  ‘Shut up, both of you!’ Aggie pulled herself up from the chair. ‘Why don’t you strip me down and go over me with a scrubbin’ brush?’

  ‘That’s an idea.’ Ben’s expression was serious as he nodded towards Millie, and she answered him, ‘Yes; yes, it is. But we’ll have to do it with cold water and the yard broom.’

  ‘That’s enough! D’you hear? That’s enough.’ When Aggie swung round with a lightness that always denied her heavy bulk and made hastily for the door, Millie flew after her and, jumping in front of her, threw her arms around her waist as far as they would go, crying, ‘I’m sorry. It wasn’t nice. I was just trying to be funny, like Ben. You’re…you’re so clean underneath, and nobody knows except me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. And I love you. Oh, I do love you.’

  ‘Shut up and be quiet. Stop your jabber. And leave go of me.’

  As Aggie pulled the arms from around her waist she glanced to the side, for Ben was no longer in the room. ‘Come here,’ she said as she walked back to the fireplace. And when again Millie stood close by her side she looked down on her and said, ‘Never try to be funny at other people’s expense. Ben can do it because…well, he’s a man, and one expects it from a man. But with a woman or girl, no, unless it’s against yourself. You can be funny against yourself…you know what I mean, belittlin’ yourself like, but don’t be funny belittli
n’ anybody else. You understand?’

  Millie voice was breaking as she said, ‘Oh, yes, yes, Mrs Aggie, I understand. Oh, yes, I understand, and I’ll never do it again.’

  ‘Oh’—Aggie now wagged her head—‘be as funny as you like, but don’t level it against anybody to hurt them. That’s unless they’ve deserved it, or done something bad. Oh, what am I yammerin’ on about? Go on, get on with your work. You were goin’ to make a tart, weren’t you? I’ll tell you what else you can do; you can make half a dozen or so of those currant buns of yours and take them with you on Saturday as a kind of present for the lady.’

  It was as much as Millie could do to check herself from saying, ‘Oh, I don’t think I should do that. I mean, they’ve got a cook.’ She had already hurt this dear, kind woman. And to point out to her now that she didn’t know the right thing to do when visiting people like the Kirkleys would be, in a way, against the advice she had just given her, although it wasn’t to do with talking; more like behaviour and deportment or some such. Well, whatever it was, she knew she’d have to bake her little cakes and present them to Mrs Kirkley on Saturday.

  The maid who opened the door to them could not take her eyes off the great fat woman in the biscuit straw hat with big cloth roses on its brim, and the cape that just covered her shoulders and showed an expanse of blue cotton bosom, the like she had never seen before. As she was about to say, ‘I’ll tell the mistress you’ve come,’ there was a scampering of feet on the stairs, and Annabel almost threw herself on Millie, crying, ‘Oh, how lovely! How lovely to see you!’