Clover Moon Read online

‘Of course you are!’ said Sissy. ‘And you’re keeping this shawl too. It matches our uniform. It’s lovely – so evenly crocheted! Who made it for you?’

  ‘My friend Jimmy gave it to me,’ I said. ‘His mum made it for him because he can’t run around so he feels the cold – but he said I needed it more.’

  ‘It sounds as if you’ve got some wonderful friends, Clover. I promise you’ll make lots more here,’ said Sissy, brandishing a large hairbrush. ‘Here now, let’s get the tangles out of your hair.’

  ‘I can do it. I’m not a baby,’ I said again, but I was finding it heady stuff being cajoled and persuaded and humoured.

  I’d been the one mothering Megs and Jenny and Richie and Pete and Mary and Bert and Jimmy Wheels and Daft Mo and the twins and little Angel – and all the other kids in the alley. I’d been doing it ever since it was just Megs and me. It seemed so strange to be like one of the little ones here.

  15

  I WAS ONE of the middle girls at Miss Sarah Smith’s Home for Destitute Girls. I stared at them all as we ate supper. We were sitting at a long trestle table in the dining room, seven on one side, seven on the other, with Sissy and Miss Ainsley at each end. There were several girls as old as Sissy, tall, with big chests and small waists and wide hips. They whispered together, mostly ignoring me, though Sissy kept nodding at me encouragingly and checking to make sure I had enough vegetable soup and bread and cheese and milk.

  It was plain food, but plentiful. I watched the way the other girls held their spoons and chewed their food, grateful that Mr Dolly had delicately helped me with my table manners. I thought I had no appetite, but once I’d forced a mouthful down I found I was ravenous. I was a little too eager using my spoon, so that I spilled a little soup. A very pretty, long-haired girl raised her eyebrows and nudged her neighbour, while I blushed. The girls around me all started whispering and pointing at my soup puddle. Miss Ainsley frowned at them. Muted conversation was clearly the older girls’ privilege.

  The littlest girls were at the four corners of the table, so that Sissy or Miss Ainsley could attend to them. There was one curly-haired child only Mary’s age, and another about five with long hair and little spectacles. They spooned their soup and sipped their milk like little ladies, but the wild, dark-haired girl seemed unable to eat properly at all, though she looked older than the others. She lifted her bowl of soup and drank it down in several gulps, even though it was served piping hot; she bolted her bread and cheese, barely swallowing; she spilled half her milk down her front she drank so carelessly. Sissy gently remonstrated with her and mopped her up as best she could, while the child growled at her and tried to fend her off.

  Little Pammy only nibbled a morsel and drank two sips of milk. I longed to encourage her – although she was at the other end of the table from me. I tried to catch her eye and smile reassuringly, but she only stared sadly at her plate.

  We’d said a prayer at the start of the meal (I didn’t know the words but clasped my hands and muttered, copying the others) and then we said an entirely different prayer of thanks at the end too. Everyone joined in except two. The wild child licked her bowl and then tried to lick everyone else’s as well, and slapped at Sissy’s arms when she tried to restrain her. Pammy slid slowly under the table until only the tufts of her hair were visible.

  Then Miss Ainsley clapped her hands and we all had to take our cups and plates and bowls and cutlery to the kitchen. There was a lady there wearing a curious mobcap and a white apron down to her boots, directing all the girls and smacking the heads of the naughty ones who stuck their fingers in the jam jar or tried to tear a chunk of bread from a loaf. She was as tall and fat as Miss Ainsley was small and thin. Perhaps she sampled her own bread and jam all day long.

  She gave me an appraising look. ‘So what’s your name then, missy?’ she asked.

  ‘Clover Moon.’

  ‘I’m Mrs Grant, the cook. You certainly look like you need feeding up. Suet pudding twice a day for you!’

  I wasn’t sure whether this was a treat or a punishment, but it seemed like a good idea to suck up to the person in charge of our food.

  ‘Thank you very much, Mrs Grant,’ I said, thinking she’d like me to add her name to every sentence like Miss Ainsley.

  ‘Ooh, Miss Manners,’ she said, mocking me. ‘Just call me Cook, that’ll do.’

  I couldn’t win! Sissy was trying to get the wild child to put her crockery in Cook’s big sinkful of hot soapy water, but she threw her dish down on the stone flagged floor instead.

  ‘The little vixen!’ said Cook, and swiped at her.

  The wild child screamed and tried to hit her back.

  ‘No, Jane, you mustn’t do that!’ Sissy said, trying to catch hold of her arms.

  Wild Jane clearly felt she must, and whirled her arms like a windmill, screaming her head off. One of her fists hit Pammy on the shoulder, and she winced but didn’t make a sound.

  ‘Oh, poor thing! Did she hurt you?’ I asked, trying to put my arm round her.

  Pammy seemed more worried by my gesture and backed away rapidly.

  ‘It’s all right, Pammy. Hey, you’re not frightened of me, are you?’ I said softly.

  She hunched her shoulders and wouldn’t look at me.

  ‘Pammy’s a bit shy, that’s all,’ Sissy panted, still struggling with Jane.

  I was used to children having tantrums. Daft Mo had often fought for no reason, and tried to bite the other kids if they taunted him. I had learned how to hold him until he quietened.

  ‘Try standing at her back and grabbing hold of her round her waist. Like this,’ I said, seizing Jane.

  She screamed even louder but couldn’t reach round to hit me.

  ‘There now. Got you tight! Calm down,’ I said, and then I walked round and round the kitchen with her, trying to distract her. I spoke right into her ear to make myself heard above her racket. ‘It’s all right, I’ve got you safe. I’m Clover. And here’s Sissy, who’s so kind and looks after you. And here’s Pammy, and she’s got her hands over her ears because she doesn’t like that noise you’re making. And here’s Cook, and she looks cross with both of us. And here’s a pot of jam and it looks good to eat. I wonder if Cook will let you have a little spoonful if you stop that silly screaming?’

  ‘I will not! I’ve never heard such a thing! You don’t reward a child for dreadful behaviour. That one deserves a good beating. She’s like a wild animal,’ Cook declared. ‘Get her out of my kitchen!’

  ‘Come, Clover, come, Jane,’ said Sissy, herding us out. ‘Come out, everyone, and leave poor Cook in peace.’

  She led us all up the stairs to the little girls’ sitting room. ‘There now, girls. Time for our Bible reading,’ said Sissy.

  I kept hold of Jane, so that when I squeezed on to a corner of the sofa she ended up sitting on my lap. I thought she might struggle to free herself, but she stayed where she was, and after a while I didn’t have to hold her so tightly. She let herself go limp, flopping against me.

  ‘I wouldn’t have Mad Jane on my lap,’ said the pretty girl next to me. Her voice was surprisingly stuck-up and grated on my ears. She might have had beautiful long yellow hair like a fairy princess but her blue eyes were mean, and I didn’t like her. ‘She wets, you know.’

  The other girls on the sofa sniggered. Jane snuffled angrily and started sucking her thumb.

  ‘She isn’t going to wet on me, are you, Jane?’ I said. ‘She’s my friend now.’

  ‘That one doesn’t know how to have friends,’ said the princess girl. ‘She’s like a wild animal. She should be locked up and kept in a cage.’

  ‘She’s loopy,’ said the girl next to her, who had very neat plaits and a prim expression. She tapped her forehead to make her point.

  ‘Girls! Don’t be unkind. Settle down,’ said Sissy, opening up her big Bible. She stood in front of us a little self-consciously, found her place in the book and started reading.

  I stared at her, astonished. Sissy was n