Page 33 of Hidden Daughters (Detective Lottie Parker #15)

‘Your name is Gabriel from now on,’ the nun said.

‘I don’t understand.’ And she didn’t. How could her name be changed just like that? Her mammy had named her and said it had a special meaning. She’d be so mad. If she was alive. A lump formed in her throat and she tried not to cry.

‘We take holy names in here, saints and angels. Yours is anything but holy, just like you’re not a saint or your poor father wouldn’t have had to bring you to us. Hard work and prayer will knock the corners off you. Come along, Gabriel.’

The seven-year-old had no idea why she was there or what was going on. She wanted to turn around and run after her daddy, but he was gone and she was alone in the huge room with the nun clad in black.

The nun had been all smiles and sweetness when he’d been there, taking her hand and stroking it while telling him she would personally look after the little one.

The girl was a bit put out by that, as she didn’t see herself as little.

She was tall for her age. But she kept her mouth shut.

Knowing when to remain mute might have to become her safety net for however long she had to stay here.

She decided that if the nun wanted to call her Gabriel, she could live with it.

The dormitory she was brought to was so big and had so many beds that she almost turned and ran.

It was cold, too. Not cosy like the room she shared with one of her two brothers and the baby.

She felt tears bubble at the corners of her eyes, but she brushed them away.

She already sensed crying would be frowned upon.

Of course she learned that there was much worse to contend with than a few wayward tears.

The first morning in the convent, she was sure she’d be shown into a classroom to begin her ‘good Catholic education’, as her father had called it.

Instead, she was led along the dorm corridor and down the stairs to a hallway, where a door was opened and a set of stone steps rose to meet her.

The air grew thick and her throat tightened, and she thought she might faint.

Worse than the lack of air was the steam. She couldn’t see a thing. It was like the thick fog she’d often seen roll in from the sea and slip across the fields at home. Don’t cry, she warned herself. Don’t think of home. She felt a shove between her shoulder blades from the nun standing behind her.

‘Now, Gabriel, this is where we do the laundry. You’re a scrawny thing, so one of your jobs will be to climb into the machine when the sheets and towels become stuck to the sides and untangle them.

Whatever you are instructed to do, you will do it.

You will be shown other jobs too. And don’t burn or scald yourself.

The steam is like fire and I don’t want to be calling out the poor doctor because of your stupidity. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Sister.’ She didn’t understand, but she was clever enough not to admit it. She hadn’t a clue what was expected of her. Where were the school books? Her education?

The nun turned and stomped back up the steps, and Gabriel was left there.

Girls were working in groups in the small, clogged space.

Not one of them had halted their tasks when she’d arrived, and they didn’t stop now that the nun had left.

They were like working ants with damp hair, their grey aprons and slip dresses stuck to their bodies with the heat.

They were either putting sheets into machines or taking them out and feeding them through massive rollers.

Gabriel had never seen anything like it in her life. She didn’t know what to do.

‘You’re the new one, are you? You’re a bit thin.’

The voice came from behind her. She was afraid to turn, but a poke in the shoulder told her that was what was expected. So she turned.

The woman – no, she was a teenager, maybe fifteen or sixteen, with skin like leather – held out a blistered hand. Was she to shake it? She did.

‘I’m called James, but that’ s not my real name. They love giving us holy names.’

‘I’m Gabriel.’

‘The archangel. Ha. You’ve no wings, so you’re stuck here like the rest of us. Just do what you’re told and you’ll be fine. Ask no questions, you’ll hear no lies.’

She had no idea what that meant.

‘Well, get on with it then.’

The teenager dragged her by the hand towards a long table. It was covered with sheets and a group of girls were ironing them. Behind them, along the far wall, were the massive washing machines. That was when she knew what fear was.