No one was uncharitable enough to mention the vicar’s strange hair, or the fact that it was patently dyed. He was, after all, the only cleric who attended Netherlands regularly and he was responsible for reporting back to his superiors to ensure further financial support. So he was flattered and indulged by Miss Lees and all the staff. They puffed up his vanity and fussed him into thinking he was important – something he needed to believe desperately. A petty man, he had long given up his dreams of advancement. Bullied outside, he liked to visit the home where he was superior, the foundlings in awe of him.
Dolly glanced at the top of Mr Grantley’s head and winked at Ethel, sitting further down the table. Ethel smiled back, watching her. Dolly was a natural politician, with her sights set on running Netherlands after Clare Lees retired. ‘Why not?’ she had said to Ethel. ‘It’s a good job. Better than the mill or cleaning out some snotty cow’s fire grate at five in the morning.’
The vicar finished grace and then prodded his meat to check for signs of life. Satisfied that it was beyond resurrection, he cut off a piece and began to chew. Slowly.
‘So, Mr Grantley,’ Dolly said, in her best voice, the one she used for people she thought were her betters, ‘how are you keeping? I heard you had had a cold.’
He swallowed manfully, his expression all holy tolerance.
‘I …’ A piece of gristle stuck in his throat and he coughed loudly, waving his napkin in front of him like a white flag. ‘I’ve been better.’
You can say that again, Ethel thought, looking at Dolly, who was all mock sympathy. It’ll do you no good; the vicar’s not powerful, he’s just the governors’ poodle. Oh, Dolly, she mused, you think you’re so clever.
‘Perhaps a little whisky would help,’ Dolly went on, adding hurriedly, ‘for medicinal purposes, of course.’
‘I believe in setting an example,’ Mr Grantley replied, finding some gristle in a back tooth and sucking his teeth reflectively. ‘I have to be careful. A man in my position knows that all eyes are on him.’
Nodding, Dolly watched him suck his teeth again and looked away. The man was a pig, but it didn’t do to let her thoughts show … Like the children, she ate hurriedly, hungrily, her thoughts turning elsewhere. When she finished work that night, she would go to her room and write a letter to Andy. He had been posted to France to fight. Silly sod, he shouldn’t have volunteered like that, Dolly thought. Why not wait until he was called up? It was all right being a hero, but what about her?
She missed him … Her eyes wandered round the rows of tables. The girls sat together in ages, the smallest ones nearest to the staff table. When Andy and she got married they could run this place, no problem. He’d be caretaker and she’d be principal. The thought warmed Dolly, almost made the food taste good in her mouth. Her eyes glanced over to the vicar, still picking at his lamb. He’s lucky to get it in wartime, Dolly thought. They don’t have lamb in the Army. Andy would be grateful for it, but not this old coot. I hope he chokes.
A child sneezed suddenly, Dolly frowned.
‘Oh no, not a cold. That’s all we need,’ she said to Ethel, hurriedly reassuring the vicar, ‘It’s not your cold, of course,’ as if there were a pecking order to chills, ‘but we have to be so careful here, Mr Grantley. If one child gets a cold, they all do.’ And that meant more work, she thought to herself. One snotty nose was all it took …
Ethel knew exactly what she was thinking. Dolly might think she could fool the vicar, but not Ethel, She looked back to her plate. Honest to God, she thought, this was never lamb! It tasted more like something that had been pulling a cart yesterday. She chewed on a piece of the hard meat and then looked down the table again.
‘I find it so bracing, this cold weather,’ Dolly went on, her voice ludicrously forced. ‘So good for the lungs.’
‘Not if you’re recovering from a cold,’ Mr Grantley said darkly, turning over a suspicious-looking piece of meat with the end of his knife. ‘I’ve heard that chill weather can turn a cold into pneumonia. I had two parishioners who died last winter from colds. Never stood a chance. They were fine one Sunday and then,’ he paused, flicking over the meat like a corpse on a slab, ‘bang! Dropped down dead. From cold. Pure cold.’
More likely that they’d frozen their bloody arses off in your church, Ethel thought wryly.
‘Well, you must take care of yourself, vicar. No one would want to miss one of your services,’ Dolly ventured, watching, glassy-eyed, as the clergyman began to pick at a piece of gristle stuck in his front teeth.
‘I am always available to my flock, cold or no cold. I have to be.’ He sucked his teeth forcefully to release the wedge of gristle. ‘People look up to me; they look to me to set an example.’
Ethel was certain that Dolly did not see the humour of the situation, and regarded her thoughtfully. Dolly’s high spirits were a little too excessive for lunch with Mr Grantley. She must have heard from Andy, Ethel thought. Did she really believe that she had it all worked out? Most of Salford knew that Andy was writing to a number of lovesick girls. At the last count he had three fiancées, one putting on a lot of weight recently …
Dolly’s blonde hair was bent towards the vicar’s dyed pate. There was no chance she’d be running this place one day, Ethel thought. Dolly Blake might be pretty and clever, but she wasn’t what the governors looked for in a principal. She was too flash. Too obviously on the make.
If anyone was going to take over from Clare Lees it would be the quiet man sitting at the head of the next table. Ethel studied Evan Thomas curiously – the narrow head, long nose, and large luminous eyes the blue of iris. A very delicate creature, too frail to be sent off to fight. Ethel smiled to herself. Oh, Dolly might think she was smart, but Evan was the one to watch.
Suddenly there was a commotion, a shriek of temper as a glass was thrown across the dining room. Miss Lees stared open-mouthed, Dolly wide-eyed, Mr Grantley poised with his fork halfway to his mouth.
It was Alice. Screaming, standing up on her seat as the girls around her shrank back. They knew there would be trouble, but she seemed immune to everyone. Her face was pink, her fists clenched, a steady wail coming from her open mouth. Ethel got to her feet, roughly caught hold of the child and physically removed her from the dining room.
Her hand fastened over Alice’s mouth as Ethel paused outside the door and listened. At first there was a stunned silence, followed by the angry scrape of a chair being pushed back. As fast as her stocky legs would carry her, Ethel hurried away. Alice had relaxed in her arms and was heavy as Ethel hurried up the narrow back stairs and on into the pharmacy.
Out of breath, she deposited Alice in a chair and put her hands on her hips.
‘What …’ Ethel puffed, ‘… what … was …’ She breathed in deeply. ‘What was all that about?’
Alice was quiet, surprised by the anger coming from the only person who had ever shown her affection.
‘Alice, talk to me!’ Ethel snapped. ‘Miss Lees will be here in a minute and she’ll take a bad view of this. You’re in trouble, my girl. You don’t know how much. Alice, you have to help me to help you – now, what happened?’
‘She took my jewel.’
‘What?’ Ethel said, baffled.
Alice looked up, tears on her black lashes. ‘Annie Court took my jewel. I felt her hand go in my pocket and she stole it.’
‘What jewel? Oh, you mean your stone.’
‘It’s a JEWEL!’ Alice shrieked. Her voice was rising again.
She’s going to have hysterics, Ethel thought frantically. Oh no, not that. Hurriedly, she bent down to the child. ‘Alice, pull yourself together! Miss Lees will be here any minute –’
But it had no effect. Alice had lost all fear of anything. Her cheeks