The Orphans of Halfpenny Street. Cathy Sharp

with filth. When the charity – formed by several well-meaning persons of influence and wealth, including a Catholic Bishop and an Earl, though the latter did no more than contribute to the funds and allow his name to be printed on their headings – had bought St Saviour’s for a song, it had cost a small fortune to make it habitable again. However, its situation made it ideal for taking in the orphaned or mistreated children from the surrounding slums and giving them a safe home where they would be fed, cared for and given a new start in life. Although various council-run homes existed, and of course Dr. Barnardos had places all over London and the rest of the country, there were none quite like St Saviour’s, in her opinion. Everyone seemed intent on getting the children out of the city, sending them to scattered locations in the country, where they would lose touch with any friends they might have and would eventually lose their London identity. Here they gave their children individual attention, with each child loved and cared for, which wasn’t always the case in other homes. Beatrice liked to think that it was a place of hope for those poor forgotten children who might otherwise have lived on the streets.

      St Saviour’s was the first place a harassed council and busy police force thought of when needing somewhere to place these children. Some would move back when their families were able to cope; some would go to new homes with kind people who took them in and cared for them. The worst cases sometimes went into specialist homes because their minds or bodies were beyond repair but St Saviour’s took as many children as they could squeeze into their premises. Because she knew only too well how desperately the home had been needed, Sister Beatrice could not truly regret having given up her life at the Catholic convent, which was situated in a quiet suburb on the outskirts of London, though she sometimes missed the peace of the evenings spent in prayer or quiet contemplation. She’d been convinced of her vocation and content to do the work God had given her; it was only since coming to St Saviour’s that she had sometimes wondered if she was strong enough for the task. However, Mark Adderbury was right when he said that not all children in need were ill. Many were simply undernourished and ill-treated, and it was these that St Saviour’s had mainly been set up to help because the established homes were overflowing and some had closed during the Blitz and taken their children out of London. This particular area had been chosen because it was at the heart of one of the poorest in the city, and would provide an instant refuge and in some cases a home for life.

      The disastrous war the country had just come through had left many additional orphans in London, which was why the scheme had found favour amongst so many of Mark Adderbury’s friends and acquaintances. Sister Beatrice had no doubt at all that his was the driving force that had got everything up and running in the first place. She’d found herself responding to his charm and promising to think about it, and after inspecting the home, which she instantly saw was in need of better management, had allowed herself to be persuaded. On the whole, she found her work satisfying and often rewarding, but she had not reckoned with that wretched paperwork.

      Entering the rather dark and austere church rooms, where the meetings were held each month, she saw that the committee were already assembled and waiting for her. The Bishop looked annoyed, glancing at the gold watch he carried in the pocket of his dark waistcoat, and one or two of the others seemed frustrated because she’d kept them waiting. Mark Adderbury rose to his feet instantly and drew out a chair for her, his easy smile making her forget that she found these meetings a waste of time.

      ‘I’m afraid my report is sketchy,’ she announced. ‘We had an emergency last night and I had to write it earlier this morning …’ Taking a deep breath, she went on, ‘I am aware that the committee has been petitioning the Government for extra funds. If the new building is to be converted to more dormitories, I may not have time to complete a monthly report or keep the accounts accurately. I should need a secretary …’

      ‘This really cannot continue,’ the Bishop said fussily. ‘I do understand that the position carries many responsibilities but we must have our reports and the accounts were late last quarter. There are limited funds and I really do not see how we can find the money for a secretary …’

      ‘I disagree,’ one of the committee members said. ‘With the new grant we ought to afford more staff.’

      ‘The grant is to provide and maintain additional accommodation for the children,’ the Bishop said. ‘Really, if it is too much for you to administer the …’

      ‘Perhaps I may have the answer,’ Mark Adderbury said smoothly. His air of authority held them silent, every eye trained on his distinguished figure as he rose to his feet. ‘We should not expect such a caring and dedicated nurse to be bothered with reports and accounts and I propose that we should appoint a new administrator for St Saviour’s. She would be there to assist in any way necessary, typing reports and keeping the accounts would be a part of her duties, but she would also oversee the building work and the setting up of the new wards, and be in charge of raising funds, leaving Sister Beatrice free to do what she does so well – caring for the children and her staff with all the dedication we have seen.’

      ‘But the cost …’ began the Bishop, who was cut short by Mark Adderbury once more.

      ‘There are to be two grants, sir. The first and largest is a single one-off grant from the Government for the setting up of the new building; the other is a provisional yearly grant. Our good work has been recognised and we shall be given a generous grant for the coming year, which would pay for the new administrator. After that, we must apply for future grants – but I have every hope that Mrs Morton will raise additional funds to carry us through so that we do not have to wait in line for council funds, which are always stretched to the limit.’

      ‘Sounds good to me, Adderbury. Who is this lady – and what experience has she had?’

      ‘I’ve known her some time and a few days ago I asked her if she would be interested in perhaps taking on the post. Mrs Morton is a war widow, like so many others – but she has worked as an administrator for a military hospital; she was in the Wrens during the war and took an extensive course in first aid. Although she has no actual nursing experience on the wards, she does have good office skills and I know she was very well thought of in Portsmouth. Indeed, during one air raid, in which the hospital was damaged, she worked side by side with the nurses and was of great assistance in saving the life of one of the doctors. In fact they wanted her to stay on after the duration, but for personal reasons she left …’

      Administrator! Over her dead body. Beatrice looked at him in annoyance. Was he implying that she couldn’t do her job?

      ‘I might be glad of help in the office but I do not need help in running the home itself.’

      Her flat announcement brought all eyes to her. Some of the committee looked impatient, for Mark Adderbury’s suggestion had met with favour, but he was smiling at her, his manner as calm and reassuring as ever.

      ‘Mrs Morton would not dream of usurping your position. We all know that we have a treasure in you, Sister Beatrice. For my part, I have been afraid that we might lose you because too much pressure was being put on your shoulders … No, no, Mrs Morton will naturally co-ordinate her ideas with yours but I believe you will find her helpful. We do need to move with the times, because now that the war is over things are going to change. In fact some of the changes are mandatory. Mrs Morton will help you guide St Saviour’s into the new and better future we all long for, and oversee the setup of the new wing. She is a friendly person and has independent means, and if she were to become attached to the project she might be inclined to contribute.’

      He paused to draw breath. ‘As we all know, we need every penny we can get – and Mrs Morton has experience in fundraising. Her family is well connected, and I am sure she would be happy to write to people she knows to ask for funds. Her late husband’s family are wealthy people, and she would have a wide-reaching net …’

      Sister Beatrice glared at him. Begging for money was the one thing she had flatly refused to do, for she did not know anyone who might contribute to their charity and she could not have begged to save her own life. Pleading for money was against her religious beliefs and her principles and she didn’t think she would be much good at it.

      ‘Well, I think that settles