Chapter Nine

Lunch, for two girls used to boarding school life, was remarkably pleasant. The food, for a start, was freshly prepared and designed to appeal at least in small part to the eye as well as the stomach. Having to offer up a prayer of thanks for the benevolence of Miss Wellborn was a bit odd, but they supposed it was understandable, in the circumstances.

They were seated at a table with the oldest children in the school – a mixture of girls and boys, which was more of a shock than any of their other experiences so far.

Boys? Their reticence when they first sat down to eat was no pretence. However, the jollity around them soon prevailed, and conversation became more relaxed.

They had decided not to give away details of their own pretend "home life", rightly supposing that in such an environment people would be used to a need for privacy.

They found out little, though. Most of the older children had been at the Institute for years, and one or two were more interested in talking about moving on than about their current or past lives. A couple of the boys were going to a carpenter and a car mechanic respectively as apprentices, and one of the girls was trying very hard to pronounce her words well (or "speak proper" as she put it) because she was very excited to be given a try out as a junior assistant in a hat shop.

After lunch, the rest of the children went off to classrooms, but "Margie and Jen" were told that they were at liberty, for today, to wander around the building and grounds.

"Which, in itself, makes me think they have nothing to hide," said Margery as they explored the kitchen garden, picking off a stalk of chive each to chew. "There was no 'but whatever you do, don't look behind the red door', was there?"

"No," said Jane disconsolately. She was becoming very disappointed in their adventure – instead of thrilling opportunities to sneak about and find clues and possibly the odd dead body, it was much like being back at school. Then she brightened. "But can we go and look for one?"

They ended up spending a glorious time exploring the Institute. There were classrooms (peered into, not entered); a library; even a tiny chapel, with a relief carving of Miss Wellborn on the wall beside its door (presumably because to actually put her graven image in the chapel would have been a step too far, even for the Wellborn Institute).

Margery stopped in front of the carving and gazed at it pensively.

"What is it?" asked Jane, coming to stand next to her.

"Don't you think it's a bit … much?" suggested the older girl. "I mean, I realised how wonderful this place is for children with nowhere to go, but … it's named for her; they put up her picture next to their place of worship; they pray for her; it's as though she's a goddess of some kind … isn't it?"

Jane stopped to consider. "It's weird, but surely, as long as she was doing good, it's not exactly a crime, is it?"

Margery didn't answer, and they passed on to look into what appeared to be a small nursery. Only three cots, of which two were occupied by infants, and a fully uniformed nurse in attendance, who smiled at them through the glass but markedly did not invite them in, so they kept going.

A walk around the extensive grounds took up the rest of their afternoon, and the evening was occupied with the evening meal (more prayers for their dear benefactor) and board games before bed.

They tiptoed into the dormitory where the little girls were already fast asleep, and got ready for bed as quietly as possible. Just as they were settling down, though, there was a sound from further down the room.

Both girls sat up, and looked at one another in the dim illumination of the nightlight at the end of the room. Then with one accord, they threw back the covers and crept along the line of beds.

Eventually, they tracked the gentle whimpering to the cherub in the bed nearest the door. Each bed had the occupant's name on the end of it, so identification was easy enough – or so they thought.

"Lucy? It's Lucy isn't it?"

"Noooo …."

Their confused glances met. Margery smoothed the tot's hair.

"What's wrong, poppet? Tell me what your name is, and tell me what's wrong? Hush, now. It's all right."

"Nan."

"Nan? Your name's Nan?"

"'s' I'm Nan, 'n I wanna go home."

Jane's eye's widened. She bit her lip, and whispered, "Do you know where your home is, Nan? Do you know your address?"

"NOOOO!" This was a wail, and the two older girls tried frantically to quieten the child's tears. Eventually, Jane hopped onto the bed with her, and cuddled her in. The whimpers became snuffles.

Margery tried a different tack.

"Have you got any sisters, Nan? Any brothers?"

A plaintive "u-huh" was all they could get, but affirmation enough.

"Are they here too, or is it just you?"

"Jus' me. The lady said there would be games and friends and nice clothes and nice things to eat, so I came, but then they said I wasn't Nan any more, and I had to be Lucy, and I mustn't tell anyone because then there wouldn't be nice clothes and nice things to eat any more, but I don't want the nice clothes and things any more, I just wanna go home and be NAN." Her voice rose a little at the end of this long, frightening monologue, but she was content this time to turn her face into Jane's shoulder.

Jane glanced at Margery, and then stroked the child's hair gently until the snuffles became gentle snores; then she extricated herself carefully and tucked the child in.

They returned to the other end of the dormitory, and as they were turning to climb into their opposite beds, Margery grasped Jane's wrist.

"I don't care how we do it, but we're making that rendezvous with Miss Fisher and the Inspector tomorrow morning. If one of us doesn't get there, the other has to try anyway."

Jane nodded. They both got into bed and did their best to sleep.