Authors: Margaret Dickinson
Maddie March was leaving the orphanage. She was going out into the great, big world. Her heart beat faster and her eyes sparkled with excitement.
Wherever it was she was going, it couldn’t possibly be worse than this place.
‘You don’t mean we’re going in that thing?’
Maddie would not have admitted it in a month of precious Sundays, but the huge black and white horse, standing patiently on the drive and harnessed to a farm cart, frightened her.
‘Huh! Not good enough for you, eh, Miss Hoity-Toity?’ Harriet sniffed. ‘If it’s good enough to deliver milk around the village every morning, it’s good enough for
the likes of you to ride in, girl. We can’t afford a fancy pony and trap.’
Maddie glanced behind her at the faces pressed against every window on the three floors of the towering Victorian building.
Word had gone round. ‘Maddie March is leaving. Come and see her go?’
‘Whatever for? She’ll be back in a day or so. No one can put up with her.’
‘She won’t be coming back this time. I heard Mrs Potter say so. She’s too old now.’
‘Not – not coming back?’ Tears filled a small girl’s eyes. ‘Not never?’
Jenny Wren, so foolishly named by the over-sentimental Deputy Matron on duty when the child had been found abandoned outside the gates, ran in search of Maddie.
‘Don’t go, Maddie. Don’t leave me. What’ll I do without you?’
‘You’ll be all right. The others’ll look after you.’
The child hiccupped miserably. ‘They won’t. They tease me. Only you ever stick up for me, Maddie.’
It was true. The scrawny child, who always managed to look unkempt no matter how ever much they scrubbed her, brushed her hair or tidied her clothes, was the butt of cruel bullying. Only Maddie,
feisty and spirited, was ever on her side.
Jenny and Maddie had a lot in common. They were both thin and small for their age. Both had blonde hair and blue eyes and both had been abandoned outside the orphanage, Jenny as a newborn baby.
But there the similarity ended, for Jenny was timid and weak, a born victim. Yet Maddie had loved her like a younger sister and had tried to protect her.
‘I’m sorry, honest I am,’ Maddie said, reaching out and touching the other girl’s pale cheek. And she was, for she knew what Jenny’s life would be like once she,
Maddie, was gone. ‘Mebbe in September when you’re fourteen, they’ll find you a job an’ all.’
The younger girl sniffled hopelessly. ‘Who’d want me?’
To that, Maddie had no answer.
Now, as she glanced back at the other girls, she grinned and stepped boldly towards the horse. As she stood beneath him, he lowered his massive head and nuzzled her shoulder leaving a wet patch
on her grey coat.
‘What’s his name?’
‘Rajah.’
Maddie reached up and patted his white nose and, without consciously thinking about it, she made a soft crooning noise in her throat. Then, her fear of the animal overcome, she looked up again
at the windows and gave a royal wave to the watchers. But only to Jenny, standing at the top of the steps, did she blow a kiss. ‘Chin up, Jen. I’ll write to you.’
‘Promise?’ came the quavering voice.
‘Cross me heart.’ Maddie made the sign over where she presumed her heart to be.
‘Come along. We’re wasting time.’ Harriet was climbing up on to the front of the cart. ‘Put your box in the back and sit up here beside me.’
Mrs Potter herself helped Maddie lift the wooden box containing all her worldly possessions into the back of the cart. ‘Now you be a good girl this time,’ she hissed. ‘I
don’t want you turning up on my doorstep again. You hear?’
‘Not a chance, Mrs Potter,’ Maddie grinned impishly. ‘You won’t see me again.’
‘Let’s hope not,’ the matron answered tartly. ‘You’ve put more grey hairs in my head, Maddie March, than all the other girls put together over the twenty years
I’ve been here.’
If she was expecting the girl to feel contrition then Mrs Potter was wasting her time, for Maddie’s grin only widened as she climbed up to sit beside Harriet. As the woman slapped the
reins, the horse plodded forward and the cart scrunched down the gravel driveway away from the imposing square building that had been the only home Maddie had ever known. But the young girl did not
even glance back once.
Nothing could dim her excitement at leaving, not Jenny’s tears nor the silent, ramrod-stiff Mrs Trowbridge driving the farm cart with surprising expertise. Not even the rain that began to
fall steadily as they drove away could dampen Maddie’s spirits.
The village of Eastmere lay amidst the flat, fertile land of south Lincolnshire, three miles east of Wellandon, a thriving market town clustered along the banks of the River Welland. But it was
not towards the town that Harriet Trowbridge drove the horse and cart but along a lane leading out of the village southwards into the open countryside.
On the outskirts, they passed the gateway leading into Mayfield Park, the home of Sir Peter. Reminded of that tall, severe gentleman, whose every edict had ruled her life so far, Maddie asked
inquisitively, ‘Haven’t you got a motor car?’
Sir Peter had a motor car with huge bulbous wings and when he drew up outside the Home, the girls would line the windows to watch, wishing they could have a ride in it. But not one of them
– not even Maddie March – had ever dared to ask.
The woman beside her sniffed. ‘Aye, sheeted down in the barn where it’s been for the last six years or more. No petrol, y’see. Because of the War.’
‘But the War’s over now.’
Confined to the orphanage she might have been, yet even Maddie knew that much about the outside world. But only, she had to admit, because the evacuees with their strange speech no longer lined
the lane to school, jeering at the crocodile of orphan girls and even throwing clods of earth at them.
‘Barstards! They’re a lot of little barstards, who ain’t got no muvvers and farvers.’
And then had come the day they would never forget, the day that Mrs Potter had been obliged, by Sir Peter himself no less, to allow the girls to join in the VE Day party on the Village
Green.
Oh, Maddie would never forget that day. A boy had kissed her on VE Day. She could almost still taste the sticky jam he had left on her upper lip.
‘Aye, the War might be over for some, girl, but we’re still feeling the pinch. Mind you . . .’ the woman’s tone mollified a little, ‘we’ve been luckier than
most, living on a farm.’
‘What’s it like, living on a farm?’
‘A lot of hard work for everyone. As you will soon find out.’
Harriet flicked the reins and the horse clopped smartly along the lane, its silky cream mane and fetlocks rippling in the breeze. It didn’t seem to mind the wet, Maddie mused, so I
won’t either. But she screwed up her eyes and pressed her lips together as the rain stung her face. She could see nothing of the surrounding countryside, shrouded in grey mist, and she had no
idea where they were going or how long it would take to get there.
But they had travelled less than a mile when Maddie found herself clinging to the side of the cart as the horse, sensing home, turned sharply into a farmyard.
‘Are we here? Is this it?’
The woman made no reply but climbed down. Maddie followed suit and then looked about her. In front of her was a square farmhouse surrounded by sheds and barns and wall-enclosed yards. As Maddie
tried to take in her new surroundings, a black and white dog came rushing towards them, jumping up and barking furiously.
‘Down!’ Harriet thundered. The dog dropped to its belly, ceased its racket and gave a whine of surrender.
Maddie glanced admiringly at the woman. ‘Isn’t he good?’
‘He’s a working dog. Been trained to be obedient. Let’s hope you have too, girl.’
She led the way into the house by the back door and, following, Maddie found herself in a wash-house. Along the wall near the door hung coats and capes and beneath them a line of boots and
shoes.
‘Come along, look sharp.’ Harriet had paused in the doorway leading further into the house to beckon her. Maddie’s curious glance darted about her, still trying to take in the
clutter; a brick built copper with wash tubs and dolly pegs and a mangle close by, a heap of coal boarded off in the far corner, two bicycles and a step ladder leaning drunkenly against the
wall.
She followed the woman into the kitchen that smelled, not of stale cabbage water like the huge kitchen at the Home, but of freshly baked bread. Then stepping into the living room, Maddie saw
that a fire burned brightly in the gleaming black-leaded range, to one side of which was an alcove lined with shelves of books. Directly opposite her, the window looked out on to a square of
garden.
‘Come along, I’ll show you your bedroom. Bring your things.’
Carefully, Maddie skirted the table, covered with a green velvet cloth, and went towards the door Harriet was opening in the far corner of the room.
At the top of the steep, dark staircase they turned to the left into a narrow landing that ran the width of the house. Doors led off on either side and the woman pointed to the first door to the
left and said, ‘This is my room and you, girl, will be in this one opposite. So I can keep my eye on you.’ She waved her hand further down the landing. ‘There’s a bathroom
of sorts next to your room, but it’s open to the landing. Further on, down that step there, is the master’s room and the boys’ bedroom opposite.’
The ‘master’ and – and ‘boys’! Maddie blinked.
Harriet opened the door to the right into a small bedroom and jabbed Maddie on the shoulder. ‘Just put your things in there for now. You can put them away later.’
Maddie stepped onto the peg rug at the side of the bed and looked around the room. The single bed, tight against the wall, was covered with a bright patchwork quilt and in the corner beside the
tiny window was a marble wash-stand with a pink flowered ewer and bowl on it. Beneath the window was a chest of drawers.
‘You’ll wash in here of a morning. You can bring the water up each night. I don’t want you running into the boys in your nightgown. They use the bathroom, but you’ll only
have use of it once a week to bath and wash your hair. I’ll mind the menfolk stay out of the way then. There’s no inside lavvy. Turn left outside the back door and it’s on the
corner of the house, opposite the water tank. Now, come along, there’s work to do.’
By the time the men came into the house at six o’clock for their tea, Maddie felt like a little ragamuffin. She had swept the floor and shaken the peg rug from the hearth
in the living room, dusted the furniture and cleaned the windows and now her face was smudged with grime and her apron looked as if she’d been crawling all over the coal heap.
‘Hey, what have we here?’ a cheerful voice spoke behind her. ‘You had her up the chimney to sweep it, Mrs T?’
Still on her knees sweeping the hearth, Maddie turned around to find that the tall young man who had spoken had squatted down on his haunches to bring his face level with her own. She found
herself gazing into the softest brown eyes she had ever seen. Kind, they were, and yet at the same time they sparkled with mischief. His face was tanned and his jaw square and when he smiled, she
saw that his white teeth were even and perfect. Unruly curls, so black that they shone and glistened, fell onto his forehead.
Maddie swept the back of her hand across her brow and, unwittingly, left another streak of dust.
The young man chuckled. He leant towards her and said softly, ‘Go into the kitchen and wash your face and hands, else Mrs T won’t let you to the table.’
‘But I – I haven’t finished yet,’ Maddie said, flustered and blushing beneath the dirt on her face.
‘It’ll still be there in the morning, young’un.’ He touched her shoulder, giving her a gentle push. ‘Go on. She’s setting the table now. You’d best
hurry.’ He nodded towards the kitchen where Maddie could hear the clatter of pots.
Giving one last swift polish to the fender with her duster, Maddie picked up all the cleaning materials and scuttled out of the living room into the kitchen. Stowing the polish and dusters in
the cupboard under the sink as she had been told, she removed her hessian apron and bundled it under there too. Then she turned on the tap over the deep sink that was not, close to, so white as she
had imagined. Tiny cracks, brown stained, gave its surface a mottled, dirty look. The ice-cold water spluttered into her hands. Maddie took the soap and nail brush from the dish on the draining
board and scrubbed and scrubbed until her hands were red and raw, but clean. Then she sluiced her face with the cold water and smoothed back her short hair behind her ears.
She was moving hesitantly away from the sink when the door leading into the kitchen flew open, almost knocking her over.
‘Sorry, lass. I didn’t hurt you, did I?’
‘No, no, mester. Just made me jump, that’s all.’ Maddie looked up into the man’s face and found that it was an older version of the young man’s she had met a few
minutes earlier. Though his dark hair was liberally streaked with grey and his handsome face was weather-beaten and deeply lined, the brown eyes still twinkled and the smile was as gentle.
‘You must be the little lass from the orphanage?’
Maddie nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’ She smoothed her hands down her gymslip and smiled at him.
He looked her up and down, assessing but not unkindly. ‘The work’s hard, lass,’ he said, doubtfully.
‘I’m stronger than I look, mester.’
‘Aye well,’ he smiled. ‘Mebbe you’ll grow. We’ll have to feed you up a bit, won’t we?’
He gestured towards the living room. ‘In you go. Tea’ll be ready. I’ve to change me boots and wash me hands and then I’ll be in. Go and sit down, lass. I won’t be a
minute.’
A joint of boiled bacon sat in front of where the master would sit at the head of the table, a carving knife and fork set on either side. In the centre of the table was a selection of pickled
onions and home-made chutney and a large freshly baked crusty loaf with yellow butter in a dish.
‘You sit here, girl,’ Harriet pointed to a chair beside her, setting down a plate of buttered slices of plum bread for afters. ‘And speak when you’re spoken to and not
afore. You’ve a mite too much to say for yourself, to my mind.’ She frowned down at Maddie. ‘You’re only on trial here, you know. I can still send you back if you
don’t suit.’