From Hell to Heaven Read online

  She was a largely built voluptuous creature dressed in a manner that was a complete contrast to the orphans who were in her charge.

  They were in rags, as was the girl who had opened the door, but Mrs. Moore was elegantly attired in a gown that would have been more suitable for a lady than a working Matron.

  There were rings in her ears and on the fingers of her fat hands.

  “Your Lordship – this is a surprish!” she said, slurring the last word.

  She attempted to curtsey and almost fell over in the effort.

  “Are you the Matron?” the Marquis asked sharply.

  “Yes, indeed, your Lordship,” the woman replied ingratiatingly, “and, if you’ll come to my sitting room, I’ll tell you about the difficulties I have here.”

  The Marquis was looking round the dormitory and at the now silent tattered children.

  The girl who had let him in was kneeling beside the child lying on the floor, attempting to wipe away the blood from her back.

  “Why is this place in such a state?” he asked harshly.

  “It’s the children. Horrible little varmints they be! Like animals, destroying everything they touch.”

  Mrs. Moore was obviously now on the defensive and her dilated eyes and slobbering lips made the Marquis feel physically sick.

  He walked away from her towards the girl who was kneeling on the floor.

  “It is true that the children are out of control?” he asked.

  The girl looked up at him and to his surprise he saw that there was an undoubted look of hostility in her face.

  “If they make a noise,” she answered, “and commit the crime of waking Matron, it is because they are hungry.”

  There was an unmistakable note of condemnation in her voice and for a moment the Marquis felt that she blamed him for what they were suffering.

  Then, as he looked at the children, he realised that what she had said was the truth.

  Of course they were hungry. He could see it in the hollowness of their eyes, the way their cheekbones protruded and the pallor of their skin.

  He saw too that the wrist bones of the girl, as she staunched the blood on the child’s back, were unnaturally sharp.

  “Why are they not given enough food?” he asked and his voice was angry.

  He saw that the girl was about to tell him the truth, but, even as her lips moved, she looked towards the Matron and was afraid to speak.

  It was then that Mrs. Moore gave a cry that was almost as poignant as that of the children.

  “Don’t you listen to her, my Lord! Don’t you listen to a word she says!” she yelled. “She’s a liar and she encourages the children in their wickedness.”

  “That’s enough!” the Marquis said sharply.

  At his voice of command the words Mrs. Moore had been about to speak died in her throat.

  “As I can see you are incompetent to run this orphanage that bears my name,” the Marquis said “You will leave immediately. Within ten minutes. I have no wish to hear anything you have to say and I will take care that you do not ever have such a post as this again.”

  Mrs. Moore gave a scream, but the Marquis merely pointed towards the door.

  “Go!” he commanded.

  It would have been a brave person who could have argued with him.

  The Marquis had, however, turned away from the Matron back to the girl on the floor to ask,

  “Is there no food in the house?”

  She shook her head.

  “She spends the money on drink and her own clothes.”

  The Marquis was about to ask her other questions, but instead he asked,

  “Where can we find some food immediately?”

  “You mean you will – send out for – some?”

  “My man will procure anything that is obtainable here and I will send more from the Abbey when I return home.”

  The girl rose to her feet and carried the child she was holding in her arms to one of the beds. She laid her down and covered her with a torn blanket. Then, as the child whimpered and tried to cling to her, she said to one of the older girls,

  “Look after Daisy while I tell his Lordship where to buy us some food.”

  The word food’ seemed to galvanise the silent children into speech.

  “I’m hungry!” one of the boys shouted.

  Then they were all clamouring at once,

  “We’re hungry! We’re hungry!”

  For a moment there was an uproar and then the Marquis said firmly,

  “Listen to me!”

  As their voices died away, he went on,

  “I am going to get you some food immediately and after this you will be properly fed, but meanwhile you will have to wait and be patient until I can find out what is obtainable. Do you understand?”

  It seemed as if they did and they looked at him with unnaturally large eyes, which made him think of small animals that had been ill-treated and did not understand why.

  The girl was standing beside him.

  “Now, how do I start?” he asked.

  “There is a shop that sells – bread,” she said breathlessly, “and there will be – milk at the – farm.”

  “You had better tell me exactly where it is.”

  “You mean – you will – fetch it, my Lord?”

  “There does not appear to be anybody else available,” the Marquis replied.

  “No, there is no one.”

  “Explain to me where these places are.”

  He thought as he spoke, a bread shop would not be hard to find in such a small village.

  “Perhaps – the farmer’s wife will have a – ham at the farm,” the girl suggested as if she had suddenly thought of it “unless – it would be too expensive.”

  The Marquis frowned.

  “You must be aware that I am not considering the expense. I wish you to tell me later who is responsible for the condition of this place.”

  He saw by the expression in her eyes that she was well aware of who it was.

  “Tell me,” he said sharply.

  “Please – let us eat – first,” she begged. “The children have had nothing – today and very little – yesterday.”

  “Very well,” the Marquis agreed. “Come downstairs and explain where I should go.”

  He started to walk towards the stairs as he spoke, followed by Peregrine and the girl.

  As they reached the hall, he said,

  “I suggest Peregrine, you stay here and make sure that that ghastly woman leaves without making any further contact with the children. I will not be longer than I can help.”

  “I have a better idea,” Peregrine replied. “I will go and buy what is necessary and you find out the reason for this sorry state of affairs. After all it is your orphanage.”

  There was a faint twinkle of amusement in the Marquis’s eyes as if he realised that Peregrine had no wish to be left in an uncomfortable position with the drunken Matron.

  “Very well,” he agreed.

  He opened the front door and, as Peregrine climbed into the phaeton and picked up the reins, the Marquis spoke to his groom.

  “Help Mr. Wallingham, Jason. You are to buy everything that is obtainable in the village for a large number of hungry children. It does not matter what you bring as long as it is food. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “P-please – ” a small voice said beside the Marquis, “get the smaller children plenty of milk – if they eat too much after being hungry for so long, they will be sick. The farm is just past The Green Man. You cannot miss it.”

  “I’ll find it, miss,” Jason said.

  “You had better pay your way, Jason.”

  The Marquis drew a net purse from his pocket and held it out to the groom.

  “I expect they’d give you credit, my Lord,” Jason smiled.

  It was an impertinence, but the Marquis let it pass.

  “Hurry!” he said firmly. “The children will be counting the minutes un
til you return and so shall I.”

  Jason took the purse, touched his forehead and scrambled up onto the phaeton as Peregrine moved off.

  The Marquis turned back into the house.

  “I want to talk to you,” he said to the girl. “There are a number of questions I have to ask.”

  The girl seemed to hesitate.

  Then she opened the door of a room that was very different from those the Marquis had seen so far.

  The Marquis realised that it was the Matron’s sitting room. It was small and comfortable with a sofa and armchairs set in front of a blazing fire.

  But much more significant was a table where there were a number of bottles and a glass that somebody had recently been drinking from.

  “She will be in her bedroom packing, my Lord,” the girl said.

  The Marquis stood with his back to the fire.

  As if she suddenly realised how ragged and dilapidated she looked in contrast to his elegance, the girl undid the sacking apron and, folding it, set it down on a chair.

  The dress she was wearing looked hardly better than the apron. It was worn until the material itself had given way and so, although darned, the darns did not hold.

  Unnaturally thin though she was, the dress was still too tight and was strained across her thin chest. Because it was too short the Marquis was aware that she had grown out of it.

  “Let me start by asking your name,” he said.

  “It is – Kistna, my Lord.”

  “Kistna?” he questioned.

  “I was born in India.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “For three years.”

  The way she spoke told him that it had been a very long time.

  “And your age?”

  “I am – eighteen, My Lord.”

  He was just about to ask her why, being so old, she was still in the orphanage and, as if she knew what he was thinking, she explained,

  “When my father and mother died of cholera, I was sent here by the Missionary Society with my sister who was only eight.”

  “She is still here?” the Marquis enquired.

  “She – died a year ago – from the cold in the winter – and lack of food.”

  Now there was no doubt that the note of condemnation was back in Kistna’s voice.

  “How long has Mrs. Moore been here?” the Marquis asked.

  “Nearly two years. There was a kindly Matron here before, but your Lordship’s agent, Mr. Harboard, retired her as being too old.”

  “And was she?”

  “Not really – but I think he wanted to put – Mrs. Moore in the position because – she was prepared to help him in the – way he wished her to – do.”

  The Marquis noted that, as she spoke the last sentence, Kistna’s voice dropped to barely a whisper and, having finished speaking, she glanced towards the door almost as if she was afraid that Mrs. Moore would come in to contradict what she had said.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he assured her. “There will be no repercussions, I promise you. I intend to see that what has happened here never occurs again.”

  Kistna clasped her hands together.

  “I hoped that your Lordship would say that. I have often thought that I should get in touch with you, for I could not believe you would have countenanced – nor would any decent man – the conditions in this terrible place.”

  “Tell me about it,” the Marquis said. “And I suggest, because you look as if you could do with a good meal, that you sit down while we talk.”

  Kistna gave a little sigh.

  “Thank you, my Lord.”

  She sat down on the edge of the sofa, but the Marquis remained standing and after a moment he said,

  “I can hardly believe what I see when I have just come from the other orphanage I maintain.

  “Things were all right when I first came here,” Kistna said, “and Mrs. Owen, who looked after us, was kind and very conscientious.”

  She paused before she went on,

  “My sister was not well and very unhappy without my mother, so Mrs. Owen allowed me to stay and look after her instead of trying to find employment as I intended to do.”

  She paused and the Marquis prompted,

  “And after your sister’s death?”

  “The new Matron, Mrs. Moore found me – useful. She and Mr. Harboard sacked the women who came in to clean and cook and I – took their – place.”

  “Why did they do that?”

  Kistna’s eyes flickered.

  Then, as if she felt that he compelled her to tell him the truth, she said,

  “They – thought they could – save on the wages, as they did not have to – pay me.”

  “What you are saying,” the Marquis said slowly, “is that the money they should have been spending on the orphanage was going into their own pockets.”

  “I don’t think that Mrs. Moore has a lot of money,” Kistna said. “Mr. Harboard gave her drink, which she craved, and paid for most of the gowns she wore. He also gave her – other presents.”

  “Why?” the Marquis enquired.

  He saw a flush on Kistna’s face and, as it turned crimson, he knew that she was embarrassed to find the right words and he said quickly,

  “I understand. Go on!”

  “I used to hear them talking and I believe that this was not the only place that Mr. Harboard was obtaining money from.”

  Again as she spoke, she saw the Marquis’s expression change and said quickly,

  “Please – forgive me – I should not have said that. It is none of my – business and Mr. Harboard is your – servant.”

  “Not for much longer,” the Marquis said ominously, “and I have asked you to be frank with me and tell me the truth, Kistna. There is no one else to explain to me what has been going on here. I promise you that it will never occur again.”

  “Thank you,” Kistna said. “It has been terrible – like a nightmare – to see the children – suffering. Three of them – died last year from the cold, although Mrs. Moore tried to explain that it was of a – fever.”

  She gave a little sob as she added,

  “They used to lie awake at night, because they were so hungry and, although I pleaded and pleaded – with Mrs. Moore – she would not listen.”

  “As I have already said, this sort of thing must never happen again! Do you think the last Matron, what was her name, Mrs. Owen, would come back?”

  “I am sure that she would if your Lordship asked her,” Kistna said. “She lived in the village and used to come and call until – Matron told her to keep away and forbade me to open the door to her.”

  “I will persuade her,” the Marquis said, “and I suppose she will know where to buy clothes for the children, blankets for the beds and so on.”

  “It was – terrible last – winter,” Kistna said almost beneath her breath.

  Then as she spoke she gave a little gasp for the door opened and Mrs. Moore came in.

  She was dressed in a bonnet and cape.

  She looked first at the Marquis, and then at Kistna, with an expression on her face that was an ugly one.

  “I can see your Lordship’s listening to a lot of lies about me,” she hissed. “Well, I’m leaving, but them bottles are mine and I’m taking them with me.”

  She went to the table as she spoke and, picking up the bottles one by one, she put them into a basket she was carrying over her arm.

  When the table was bare, she turned to Kistna, who was regarding her with frightened eyes and said,

  “I hope, you little sneak, you die as your sister died and good riddance to you and the rest of ’em! I’ve had enough of children to last me a lifetime!”

  She flounced round at the last word and went out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  The Marquis saw that Kistna was trembling.

  “Forget her,” he said, “she cannot harm you! You can be thankful I came here today or this situation might have gone on for years.”

&n
bsp; “If it had, we would – all have been – dead,” Kistna’s replied.

  Even as she spoke, they heard Mrs. Moore’s voice raised as she spoke to somebody and a man replying.

  Kistna jumped to her feet.

  “I think your groom must be back, my Lord, and – with the food!”

  She did not wait for the Marquis’s confirmation, but ran across the room and pulled open the door.

  She was right.

  Jason had come into the hall carrying a huge basket filled with loaves of bread and Mrs. Moore was just disappearing down the path that led to the road.

  “You are back!” Kistna exclaimed unnecessarily, “and you have brought some food!”

  “Mountains of it!” Jason replied with a grin. “Wait till you sees what I’ve got in the phaeton.”

  He spoke in a familiar tone to Kistna. Then, as he saw the Marquis in the doorway, he added in a more respectful voice,

  “I buys everythin’ as was available, my Lord, as your Lordship tells me.”

  “Quite right,” the Marquis approved.

  As if the word ‘food’ had somehow penetrated through the closed door leading to the dormitory or rather, as Kistna guessed, the children had crept along the passage and were listening to what was happening below, there was a sudden cry and they all came rushing down the stairs.

  Because it was impossible for Kistna or Jason to stop them, they seized the loaves of bread in their hands, pulling them apart and stuffing large pieces into their mouths in an effort to assuage the hunger of their empty stomachs.

  The Marquis would have stepped forward to try to restore some order, but, as she realised what he was about to do, Kistna shook her head and, picking up two loaves, put them in his arms.

  “Let them eat what they can,” she said. “Hold these, please, while I go and heat the milk for the small ones.”

  Before the Marquis could speak or reply that he was not in the habit of holding loaves of bread, she had run out through the front door and he saw to his amusement that Peregrine was not only controlling the horses, but at the same time keeping them from upsetting a large milk churn.

  Kistna was trying to move the milk churn by the time the Marquis, still carrying the loaves, was beside the phaeton.

  “I suggest, Peregrine,” he said in an amused voice, “that you help Kistna with the milk while I control the horses.”