THE PRISONER'S SISTER

Wairarapa Times-Age, 2 August 1938, Page 10

THE PRISONER'S SISTER

PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT COPYRIGHT

BY

PEARL BELLAIRS

(Author of “Velvet and Steel”)

CHAPTER IV. At home, Julie had a cup of hot cocoa and a piece of bread, and she felt better, for it. “Why don’t you put milk in your cocoa, Julie?” said Dolly. “It’s beastly like that!” “I’m slimming,” said Julie. . “I’m trying not to get fat.” There was half a pint of milk in the bottle, which was all that Dolly and Will would have until she got no more than that amount for them next day. “I think bread’s beastly without butter,” said Dolly. Julie merely smiled. She was just thinking now how glad she was that it was so easy to deceive children when she realised that it wasn’t so easy after all. For Dolly’s arms were suddenly round her neck, and Dolly was there looking into her face, with tears in her troubled eyes. “Julie, is it that we haven’t any money to get some more butter?” “Yes; we have some money,” said Julie. “We haven’t very much, but we have some.” Dolly’s fears seemed to vanish as suddenly as they had come; and she began on a new tack: “Julie, did you find out when Tom is coming back?”

“Yes, dear.” I “Oh, Julie, is he coming back? Is he coming back tomorrow?” Will, who was reading on the hearth as usuail, said in an authoritative tone:“No, sil’l Of course he’s not coming back tomorrow!” “No: I’m afraid he isn’t. He won’t be back for quite a while. Not for some months,” said Julie. Dolly’s face fell, and Will asked: “Is some months a long time?” “Quite a while.” “Where’s he gone, Julie?” asked Dolly. “Away,” said Julie; she felt she couldn’t bear it any longer, and then, pulling herself together, added: “He’s got some work to do somewhere else. That’s all. He’ll be back some time.” They said no more about it. Dolly was thoughtful; but a few minutes later Will gave Julie a shock by saying:

“Julie, do children go to prison?” “No, dear. Why?” . “One of the boys at school today asked me if I’d ever been to prison.” “It was as we were coming home,” explained Dolly, carelessly.’ “He called out after us. They’re silly kids.”

Julie’s heart stood still. So it was beginning! Very soon Dolly and Will would know. If they were going to find out like that it would be better for her to tell them. Unless they could move away to some other district! Usually she got the. afternoon paper from old Mrs Bolton, but she owed so much rent she was afraid to go down now. So she went out to buy an evening paper, so that she could look through the jobs advertised. When she was coming back, with the paper folded under her arm, feeling rather sick because she had inadvertently found an account of Tom’s case in a prominent position in it, she found a strange woman standing on the doorstep talking to Mrs Bolton.

It seemed that the woman was waiting for Julie. “I'm from the Child Welfare Department,” she told Julie. “I understand that there are two children living here —dependents of the man under sentence of imprisonment. I came to enquire what arrangements have been made for their support?” ■ The woman looked at her suspiciously, and asked: “Are you twenty-one?” “No,” said Julie, turning pale. “Have you a job?” “I have had one. As assistant manageress in a tea-shop. I’m expecting to get other work in a day or two.” “Have you any relatives who would be responsible for the children?” “I have an aunt in Manchester, and I’ve written to ask her to help them. I’m waiting to hear.” “I see.” She was soberly-dressed individual, with a kind enough manner, but very impersonal. Her expression wasn’t very promising. “I’d like to see the children, please.” Julie would have liked to protest but she realised how useless it was. After all the woman was doing her duty, and Julie knew she ought to be glad to think that there was someone who would feed and clothe Dolly and Will, in however impersonal a fashion. She led the way upstairs. Dolly and Will gazed inquisitively at the stranger. The woman looked round the room. She walked into Julie’s bedroom for all the world as though the place belonged to her. Beyond humiliation Julie followed her. “H’m!” said the woman, darting a sharp word at her. “Is that all you’ve got on your bed?” “The children’s beds have plenty on them,” said Julie quickly. The woman went to see and then came back. ' She looked round the bare flat and nodded: “Wel„ it’s all right,” said said. “I see plenty much worse than this, twenty times a week. The children look healthy enough. When do you expect to hear from your aunt?” “Any day now.” “Well, I’ll call again tomorrow and see if you have. Have you anything to keep you going? Any savings?” “There’s no need to come tomorrow,” said Julie in a firm voice, desperately. “I can keep going.” “How?” “I have some money in the Savings Bank,” said Julie, lying on a sudden inspiration. She went to the suitcase in the corner, which contained some of the things she had taken out of her chest of drawers when she sold it, and got out a Post Office Savings Bank book. “There you are, you see,” said Julie.

The book showed a deposit of fifteen pounds. The woman nodded. “All right,” she said. The children had gone downstairs to see Mrs Bolton, Julie and she were alone. I won’t say anything, so long as everything looks all right here,” she said. “But I’ll have to keep an eye on you. If you can’t show me that you have permanent means to support these children by the end of the .week I’ll have to make arrangements to get them into a Home. That’s my job, you see, and I’ll have to do it.” “What sort of a Home?” said Julie, flinching. “The Orphanages look after children like these two. It’s better than their being half fed at home, say what you like!” She nodded and went downstairs; she looked, and was, fed up with her job, and it didn’t make her manner any more sympathetic. Perhaps if she had shown sympathy the things she might not have been able to endure the things she had to see. Julie listened, with a horrible fear that she might stop and speak to the children on the way out, say something to make them suspect. But she didn’t; the front door closed. Alone in the bare room, so utterly different to that pleasant beautifully furnished one in which she had been two hours ago with Rand, Julie looked at the Savings Bank book she was holding, in despair. It was ah old book, one that she had lost six months ago. The Post Office had given her another in place of it, and the fifteen pounds had been drawn out long ago. She had six shillings to put between the children and starvation. Tomorrow was the twenty-third of December. The day after that was Christmas Eve. She had to find work tomorrow or she could not keep going over Christmas. CHAPTER V. Walking in the streaming crowds of the Christmas shoppers, swept along with the tide in the London streets, Julie found herself in no better position with regard to a job than she had been on the day before. She had tried and tried since early morning to get a job helping in the Christmas rush in one of the big stores. But wherever she went she was told the same thing, and not always too politely, by people whose nerves were already frayed by the. effort of coping with too much work.

“No; we’ve no vacancies! We took on all our Christmas extras three days ago.” No one had time to talk about it; not one of all the thousands of eager faces turned towards the Christmas display windows was ever turned towards Julie with a thought for her. She thought of friends she had had in the country before her father died and the family came to London; but it was no good thinking of them. What would they say and do, after what had happened to Tom? Other friends she had made since then, friends of Tom’s in Rand’s office, had made no move to approach her since Tom’s disgrace. She believed that it was because they were afraid that they might be implicated in the business, rather than that they would have done nothing for her. Better, perhaps, the bitterness of accepting Rand’s help than applying to them! She walked from Hammersmith to the City during the course of that day; and back again to Victoria. She saw the great new bridge being built over the Thames. It was being built by Ferris Rand and Co. Tom had taken her to see the commencement of the driving of the first pile; and now the great steel frame was rising over the river. With weary feet Julie stood looking over the embankment at the busy scene. What a terrific undertaking! It wouldn’t be finished for six months. Every day thousands of men were at work. The river noises and the clank of metal, the blast of welding made a great symphony. The tremendousness of it all dwarfed her own small struggle—the struggle to live in this seething, indifferent, cruel, yet beautiful London. Christmas was the worst time of all to be without a friend. When she arrived home, foot-sore, tired out and hungry at half-past six, she found that the Craddocks had been giving her situation some serious thought. It wasn’t that they were unfriendly. “Only I can’t afford it, see!” said Mrs Craddock. She was a thin woman, with a lot of teeth in front. “I haven’t had any rent from you for five weeks!” “Not for five weeks!’” echoed Mr Craddock. “Well, that’s all very well —I know as you’ve had trouble. I don’t grudge you the roof —not that I can afford it, mind you!” said Mrs Craddock. “But something’s got to be done. You’ve got to do something! Before I know where I am I’ll be feeding the lot of you over Christmas! That’s what I’ll be doing. You’ve got to do something with those children—the woman that came from the Welfare will see after them. They won’t come to no harm. Only you can’t keep them yourself — it’s no good to try! Before we know where we are it’ll be us that’s bearing the burden of them —that’s what it’ll be!” They met Julie in the hall to say this to her. Old Mrs Bolton, knowing nothing of their intentions, heard sounds of the conversation from the kitchen and came out. “Now, Sue!” she said in a worried tone. What’s all this about?” “You just keep out of this, Auntie,” said Mrs Craddock aggressively. “We don’t .want none of your interfering!” “No, we don’t!” said Mr Craddock. “You clear off!” Mrs Bolton, who had the mildest face in the world, stiffened up and became

very red. She jerked her head towards Julie, who was leaning against the wall, silent, in too great a despair to say anything in reply to Mrs Craddock. “You turn her out,” said Mrs Bolton, i “and I’ll go too!" I “Oh, you will, will you!” said Mr Craddock. “Yes, I will! .You fat idle pig, you!” The disctission turned into a row between Mrs Bolton and Mr Craddock, and drifted towards the kitchen, giving Julie time to slip up the stairs. She was grateful to Mrs Bolton. But what could Mrs Bolton do? And the Craddocks were right. They would be feeding Dolly and Will over Christmas. Even the children were silent and left her alone, for they could see that tonight there was really something the matter with Julie. She looked so white and tired. She sat for some time, with her head in her hands, thinking things over. Then she went out to the telephone call box along tho road. She found the number of Rand’s Dover Street flat, and rang him there. It was all utterly humiliating, but she was glad when she heard that he was in. “Mr Rand, this is Julie Moffat speaking.” He didn’t seem at all surprised, and his voice was very businesslike as usual as he replied. That made it easier. “I’ve decided to take that job you offered if it’s still going,” said Julie. “Yes, it’s still going.” “What would my salary be?” There was silence on the line for a moment. Rand’s mind had been full of other things. Part of his great energy in the conduct of his enterprises was that he had a capacity for filing his problems until the time came to deal with them. He treated the domestic affairs of the Moffat family in the same way. When Julie left his flat his intention had been to give her three or four days in which to change her mind; and until then, except for occasional moments of not unflattering wonder at her courage, he had forgotten about her. “Your salary? Oh well —say two pounds ten a week to start with.” (To be Continued).