by Rosie James
‘I think that is a rather pessimistic view, Jacob,’ Randolph said coolly. ‘It’s obvious that not everyone has the same start in life, but those children are schooled in arithmetic, they are given books to read, and they are taught the bible—’
Jacob interrupted, smiling. ‘I can see that your recent experience has played on your mind and given you cause for thought, Randolph.’
Randolph nodded. ‘I learned that nuns from the priory teach the children and help to look after them,’ he said, ‘together with a small, subsidiary domestic staff.’
Jacob shrugged. ‘I’m telling you, none of them will ever amount to anything. They are the driftwood of life! My father was emphatic about never employing such people. because they’d always be a waste of time. And my father was never wrong about anything! All successful countries, all successful economies, depend on people of good stock, of good background, of intellect, and you and I are part of that, Randolph. We are doing our bit to keep the system going.’ He leaned forward and tapped Randolph on the knee. ‘And, in years to come, when our two youngsters tie the knot – oh, I know it won’t be for a very long time yet – but when they do, they will be continuing the process. And they will produce children of distinction! Useful citizens, Randolph!’
Randolph smiled briefly. Who knew what Alexander might want to do with his life, or who he’d share that life with? Jacob’s daughter, Honora, was still only an infant, but he and his wife Elizabeth, were determined that their little girl would one day be the next Mrs Garfield.
Randolph stared into his glass for a moment. He knew that Jacob was a great admirer of Frances Galton, the distinguished statistician and mathematician. Galton was of the opinion – among other things – that it was simple to place the populace in groups, from the lowest to the highest in terms of what they would be worth to the success of a country, and that the value of an ‘average’ person over a lifetime would be no more than five pounds. He also empathically believed that the lower classes should be discouraged from procreating.
‘I returned to the orphanage today and spoke at length to the superintendent,’ Randolph said, ‘and I learned that there are two trustees, one of whom is a priest – Laurence Dunn—’
‘Oh, I’ve met Father Laurence,’ Jacob interjected. ‘He’s been to my club once or twice.’
‘Anyway, I wanted to know if anyone had returned to claim little Angelina,’ Randolph said, and Jacob snorted derisively.
‘That’ll never happen!’ he said. ‘Orphans are the unwanted in life. Certainly unwanted by the loose, ignorant women who spawn them!’
Chapter 2
The following Saturday afternoon, Randolph left the factory earlier than usual and made his way to the orphanage. He had been thinking long and hard about many things, and had come to a decision. He was not going to see the place close, its young inmates dispersed to heaven knew where. If it was at all possible, he would buy it – he’d already re-named it in his head. It would become the Garfield Home for Children.
His ring on the bell was answered almost at once by Mrs Marshall. She stood aside for Randolph to enter.
‘Is it possible for me to speak to Miss Kingston?’ he said briefly. ‘I will not keep her long.’
Mrs Marshall nodded. ‘I’ll tell her,
Presently, sitting opposite Emma Kingston in her office, Randolph said – Firstly, I would like to find out how the baby … how Angelina is getting on. Is she thriving?’
The superintendent smiled. ‘That little one is a born survivor, Mr Garfield,’ she said. ‘We engage a wet nurse for babies this young and Angelina took what was offered straightaway. She sleeps well, is no trouble at all and is so alert! In fact, I would say she is already looking around and sizing up the world she’s been born into!’
Randolph nodded. Would he ever forget those large brown eyes gazing up at him?
‘You say there are eight children here. Both girls and boys, I take it?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Emma Kingston said, ‘At the moment we have four boys and, with Angelina now, there are five little girls..
nd how long do they remain at the orphanage? Generally speaking?’
‘Normally until they are fourteen,’ the superintendent said, ‘Then we try and find work for them, and somewhere to live.’ She shrugged briefly. ‘It isn’t easy, but sometimes a job comes up in one of the big houses or hotels, where they have bed and board in exchange for cleaning work, scullery work, or in the kitchen. And luckily, they do have some experience because from quite a young age they must help here with everyday tasks. It’s never too early to learn such things, is it?’ She smiled. ‘The boys are not so keen, but they are kept busy in our small garden, weeding, clearing up and planting. We try to grow our own vegetables to keep our costs down.’ she added.
Randolph cleared his throat. Why had he never given a thought to the small lives being lived out in this huge building, and other buildings like it?
‘And what about staff, Miss Kingston?’ he asked. ‘How many people do you have working for you?’
‘Oh well … I have Mrs Marshall, who you’ve met,’ the superintendent replied. ‘She is a general assistant and she comes in each day. One or two extra helpers are engaged occasionally when needed, and of course there are always the two domestics who clean and do regular hours in the laundry.’
‘You have quite a task force here, Miss Kingston,’ Randolph said, and she smiled.
‘Ah, but I haven’t mentioned our wonderful cook, Mrs Vera Haines! She is resident, naturally, as is our young nurse, Nancy’ the superintendent said. ‘Nancy is a cheerful young lady who sometimes helps the nuns in the schoolroom, or accompanies the children when they go to the park. But she goes home at weekends, so it’s fortunate that, after all these years, I am well able to cope with any minor medical problems which may crop up. And of course, I can always call the parish doctor if necessary,’ she added.
Randolph glanced at the clock on the wall. He didn’t want to take up too much of the woman’s time, but if he was going to put his plan into action, he had to know what he was taking on – and what it was going to cost. ‘Would you mind showing me around, Miss Kingston?’ he asked politely. ‘Because I would very much like to help in some way if possible, and …’
Emma Kingston stood up. ‘Of course you may look around, Mr Garfield,’ she said, ‘but I am afraid we are beyond help now. We just cannot afford to stay here with the small financial help we receive. The whole place is in need of a thorough overhaul, such lighting as we have needs replacing and the plumbing is in a poor state.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘So one has to face facts – this building is not fit for purpose, and that is why it is to be sold. Apart from the fact that, as I explained, our benefactor has died,’ she added.
Randolph did not reply, but followed her along the corridor and up to the stairs to be shown the five small bedrooms for the orphans – all very neat and tidy, he noted to himself.
‘These rooms at the end are the ones for Nancy, Mrs Haines and myself,’ Miss Kingston said, ‘and our nursery for the babies is there as well. The two small bathrooms we have are downstairs – which can be slightly inconvenient.’
Is Angelina in the nursery?’ Randolph asked casually, and Emma Kingston stopped.
‘Yes – would you like to take a peep, Mr Garfield?’
‘Together, they went into the nursery and as Randolph gazed down at the child he had the greatest difficulty in not scooping her up into his arms. Cocooned in snow-white covers, she was fast asleep. On the soft white pillow was the pink teddy bear, the one tiny possession she had brought with her.
‘She is the most delightful baby,’ Miss Kingston murmured softly. ‘We are all in love with her. It’s as if she’s determined to be no trouble to anyone.’
Just then, Angelina stirred and opened her eyes, and Randolph felt tears welling up in his own. What possible future was in store for this little one, abandoned at birth? Why couldn’t she be his, his and Sybil’s? One
of the children they’d planned to have?
The superintendent interrupted his thoughts as she said quietly, ‘Her next feed is almost due, but see? Angelina is looking at us, Mr Garfield, giving us the onceover! This is quite unusual in so young a child,’ she added.
Randolph found his voice. ‘She is … perfect,’ he said. ‘Surely a gift from God.’
Miss Kingston glanced at him covertly. For a hard-nosed businessman, Mr Garfield was rather a surprise.
‘It is very quiet everywhere,’ Randolph said as he followed her back down, and she half-turned to glance at him.
‘Ah well, at this time on a Saturday afternoon the children are usually taken to the park – if the weather is reasonable – but they’ll be back soon and looking forward to teatime. Cook usually makes cakes on Saturdays.’
Emma Kingston opened a door and gestured for Randolph to look inside. ‘This is where food is eaten,’ she said, ‘and the children have three meals a day, breakfast, dinner and tea, and a warm drink last thing.’
Randolph looked down at the two long trestle tables, the wooden benches pushed beneath. ‘I must say that I was aware of a very appetising smell as I came in earlier,’ he said. ‘So what was on the menu for dinner today?’
‘It was tripe and onions today, with mashed potatoes, and an apple for pudding,’ Miss Kingston said, ‘and while tripe may not be everyone’s first choice we are on a very tight budget, so the children must eat what they are given.’ She smiled briefly. ‘Orphans are not allowed to be fussy, Mr Garfield, but our cook always manages to make everything so tasty that it is unusual for even a scrap of food to be left on the plates. And the staff eat exactly the same.’
Finally, Randolph was shown the playroom and the schoolroom next to it, with the single desks in rows and a large blackboard and easel at the front of the class.
‘Do the children enjoy their lessons with the nuns?’ Randolph enquired. ‘I mean, do you have behavioural problems?’
‘Sometimes,’ Miss Kingston admitted, ‘but orphans are just children, all with difficult backgrounds – well, those we know about. But some of them are just picked up from the street, little strays that no one knows a thing about. So of course they can be naughty, but that’s only to be expected– and I try and talk them out of their bad humour with a hug, and maybe a sweet or two,’ she added.
Following her back into her office, Randolph decided that it was time to come clean.
‘Miss Kingston,’ he said, ‘I have something to say which may come as a surprise, but all things being equal, I am going to buy this building, and will expect it to be run exactly as it is at the moment.’
The woman’s reaction was immediate. ‘Mr Garfield … Mr Garfield, I am not sure what to say, but—’
‘The only thing I would ask you to say, Miss Kingston,’ Randolph interrupted, ‘is that, if it all goes through as I hope it will, would you stay on in your present position here and help me … advise me? My business life is obviously totally different from owning an orphanage, as you will appreciate, and I am going to need expert guidance. Can I dare to hope that you will provide that guidance?’
For a full ten seconds Emma Kingston didn’t utter a word. Then she said simply, ‘It would be my privilege, Mr Garfield. And my utter joy.’
He stood up to leave, then hesitated. ‘It is very sad that no one has come forward to claim Angelina,’ he said, and the superintendent nodded.
‘Indeed it is,’ she said quietly. ‘And … I do have news which it grieves me to tell you, Mr Garfield. But the body of a young woman was found late on Thursday night, about half a mile from here and … it seems that she had quite recently given birth.’
Randolph felt his stomach lurch in horror at this information, yet he was well aware that almost every week in the year it was commonplace for nameless bodies to be swept up on the streets of London. Jacob Mason’s classless, rootless, useless human beings …
Chapter 3
December 1913
Alone at home in his study, Randolph stared out at the cheerless wintry scene, his heart heavy with dread. There was no denying any longer that war with Germany was imminent. The newspapers were full of gloom – Mr Winston Churchill who, in the last couple of years, had demanded the construction of huge battleships to counter Germany’s massive fleet, appeared to be hungry for the conflict to begin as soon as possible. And it seemed that he might get his wish because military exercises could be regularly witnessed on the streets of London and artillery batteries had appeared at the mouth of the Thames. Ready and waiting …
Randolph ran a hand through his hair. The thought of war was hideous for many reasons – not only because of the blood, sweat and tears which would be shed, but the damage to the economy would be enormous, the wealth of the country eroded. Any sea-faring trades would be affected, and that included Garfield’s.
But all those considerations were not what was really making Randolph’s stomach churn with anxiety. It was the fact that Alexander would almost certainly be the age at which he would be expected to join the British army and do his bit to help defend France and Belgium against the enemy. Randolph had kept a close watch on the news over the preceding months and had a shrewd idea as to what that would entail. The thought that his beloved son should come to harm, or suffer an early death, was the worst possible nightmare. If that did happen, Randolph himself would not wish to go on living.
He tried to cheer up. After all, in a couple of days Alexander would be coming home from his boarding school for the Christmas holidays, and despite everything, that was enough to ease Randolph’s frown.
Ever since Alexander and Jacob Mason’s daughter, Honora, had been born, the two families always spent the two main Christmas days together. The Masons had no other children, nor close family members, so it seemed a natural thing to do. The two families took it in turns to host the festivities and this year it was going to be at the Masons’ house. Although, as usual, there would be merely five of them enjoying the festivities the noise and hilarity was always enough for a crowd. From very early days, the two children had always loved being together, and even now that they were both almost 17 years old, nothing had changed. As Jacob kept insisting, they had been a pigeon pair since birth, and he would always make sure that the ubiquitous sprig of mistletoe was there above the front door so that Honora and Alexander could be witnessed showing their special love for each other and receive a round of applause from Jacob and Elizabeth. But Randolph would merely smile. He hoped his friends were not going to be disappointed in their matchmaking hopes. Alexander seemed engrossed in his college life, and although, next year, he was expected to start a business degree course, Randolph had been advised that they should think again as his son showed an exceptional understanding of physics. It appeared that a different future might await him.
For Randolph, Christmas Eve was the occasion he most looked forward to. Ever since he had a acquired the orphanage, he had made a point of visiting the place several times every month, and Christmas Eve was a special date. He and Alexander would go there together and take presents and treats for the staff. Of course, the children always had a bulging stocking to open on Christmas morning, but it was the magic of the day before which touched Randolph the most. To hear his little orphans sing carols to him, and see their faces alive with hope and excitement, always pulled at his heart strings.
Now, glancing at his watch, he saw that it was almost time for his supper to be served, but first, he needed to look through some papers. Opening one of the drawers in his desk, a small brown envelope took his attention. Of course, he knew what it held because he had looked through it many times.
It was a bundle of precious letters that Miss Kingston had sent him some years ago. Letters that Randolph guarded with the same care that he gave to his important financial papers, because every child who had been capable of doing so had written to him telling him what they would like to be when they grew up and left the orphanage.
This exercise
had been Miss Kingston’s idea, and she could not have known the pleasure it would give to their benefactor every time he read the careful writing. There were going to be train drivers and policemen, writers and singers – one 8-year-old wanted to be the Archbishop of Canterbury, and several wanted to own their own sweet shops. But the thing was, they all had hopes, and Randolph did his best to help as many of them as he could. After all, he was influential and had already seen several of the 14-year-olds find work, giving them the chance to earn money and develop some self-respect and independence. Last year he had been especially pleased to see one of his youngsters, who’d always been top of the class in arithmetic, secure an apprenticeship with a firm of accountants – business associates of Randolph’s. And despite Jacob Mason’s cynical outlook on orphans, over the last year or two he had agreed to take on three lads to work in his factory and had grudgingly admitted that, so far, he couldn’t complain. But he had also stated that at the first sign of pilfering or wasting time, the culprit would be out on his ear. ‘It’s all in the genes, Randolph,’ Jacob would say complacently. ‘Just mark my words, because I know I’m right. In the end, none of them can possibly amount to much, not with their background.’
But it was always one special letter in the bundle which Randolph would keep to read last. Not that he needed to read it because he knew it off by heart. The writing was childish but perfectly formed and confident. It read:
Dear Mr Garfield,
I am seven years old and I have been a Garfield orphan all my life. I have not had any other home, and I do not want one because I am very happy here even though the nuns get cross in the schoolroom sometimes and give us the cane.