Workhouse Angel

by Holly Green

  ‘I take it,’ Weaver said, ‘that you have applied to the workhouse.’

  ‘Of course. It was my first action on leaving the ship. They told me that she had almost certainly been adopted soon after I left her, but when I asked by whom I was told that such matters were confidential and they could not reveal the identities of adopting couples. That is why I have come to you. Do I have any redress in law?’

  Weaver pursed his lips. ‘Adoption has no legal standing, of course. It is an informal relationship between the consenting parties, in this case the governor of the workhouse and the adopting couple. Theoretically, if you can prove paternity, there is nothing to stop you claiming the child. But does it not occur to you, Mr Kean, that your daughter may now be enjoying a very happy life with a loving couple whom she believes to be her parents? For you to burst onto the scene now could only cause her distress.’

  Kean hung his head. ‘I was afraid you would say that. And of course you are right. But if I could only be sure that she is in good hands …’ His voice tailed off.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ James said. ‘Do you mind if I ask Mr Kean a couple of questions?’

  ‘As you wish,’ Weaver said.

  ‘Do you remember what your daughter looked like, Mr Kean?’

  ‘I not only remember, I have a likeness of her. My wife, God rest her soul, was an amateur artist and before she died she drew Amy.’ He reached into an inner pocket and took out a wallet. From this he extracted a slip of paper and handed it to James. The paper was yellowing and the lines of the picture were faded, but the likeness was still vivid.

  ‘Was her hair golden? I see you are fair.’

  ‘Yes, she had my colouring. Why do you ask?’

  James looked across at his principal. ‘Sir, I believe I may have seen this child.’

  ‘Seen her? Where?’ Kean demanded.

  Weaver inclined his head. ‘Go on.’

  ‘It was a couple of years ago. The story is a bit convoluted, so bear with me. My mother buys … used to buy … her hats from Freeman’s Department Store. One day I found myself at liberty rather earlier than usual – if I remember rightly, sir, we had been in court and the case had ended sooner than we expected – and I recalled that my mother had an appointment to try on a new hat, so I decided to call in and escort her home.

  ‘When I arrived, I found a small girl sitting outside the milliner’s room, apparently in some distress. She was a pretty little thing, with golden hair and blue eyes. When I asked what the matter was she said her mama had sent her out of the room and she didn’t know why. I went in and found my mother and another lady, who was clearly in a very bad temper, plus of course the milliner and … and her apprentice, a young woman called May Lavender. The other lady collected her hat and left, taking the little girl with her. What had happened, I was told, was that, when she arrived, May, Miss Lavender, claimed to recognise the child. I didn’t understand the circumstances at the time but now I think I can fill in the missing pieces of the jigsaw.

  ‘She – Miss Lavender – was sure that the child was one she had looked after as a baby. She became very attached to her, but then one day the child disappeared and she was told she had been adopted. She was convinced that this little girl was the child she had named Angel because of her looks, and who was now called Angelina. The lady who claimed to be her mother, however, was extremely angry and subsequently did her best to get May dismissed from her post. I know now that May was brought up in the workhouse, so that must be where she encountered the child – and it explains, I imagine, why the adoptive mother was so disturbed when she recognised her.’

  ‘Lavender?’ Mr Weaver mused. ‘The name rings a bell.’

  ‘You subsequently agreed to speak on behalf of her brother, who had been arrested for being drunk and disorderly. We managed to persuade the magistrate that justice would be better served by a fine rather than imprisonment, so that he could take up a position he had been offered with one of the shipping companies.’

  ‘Ah yes, I recall the incident. Your involvement with the family seems to have been quite long established.’

  ‘I helped to arrange a petition asking Mr Freeman not to dismiss May.’

  ‘This young woman,’ Kean broke in, ‘is it possible to speak to her?’

  ‘I fear not. She emigrated to Australia about six months ago.’

  Kean shook his head in disappointment.

  ‘Do you recall the name of the lady who claimed to be the child’s mother?’ Weaver asked.

  ‘I don’t, I’m afraid. But I am almost sure that my mother would.’

  ‘Could we speak to her?’ Kean asked.

  ‘She is in very poor health, I’m afraid. But I’m sure she would be happy to help if she can. I could ask her.’

  ‘Would you? Please? I shall be grateful for any clue.’

  ‘One moment.’ Weaver raised a warning hand. ‘Before we proceed any further, I think we should be clear what you are intending to do with any information you may glean, Mr Kean. If this is not the child you are seeking you might cause a great deal of trouble for yourself and for her.’

  ‘I understand that,’ Kean said, ‘but if I could just see her, I’m sure I should know her.’

  Weaver lifted his shoulders. ‘I cannot prevent you from making any enquiries you wish to make. But as a lawyer I should warn you of the possible consequences.’

  Kean looked from him to James and rose heavily to his feet. ‘I understand. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.’

  James rose also and cast a look of appeal at Weaver. ‘Sir … ?’

  ‘However,’ Weaver conceded, ‘as I said, there is nothing to stop you making enquiries. Now, if you will forgive me, I have work that I need to get on with.’ He rose and held out his hand. ‘I’ll wish you good day.’

  ‘Good day, and thank you for your time,’ Kean responded.

  ‘I’ll see you out.’ James conducted him to the outer office and detained him with a hand on his sleeve. ‘If you could come back here at half past five, when we close, I could take you to meet my mother.’

  ‘Are you sure? I thought you said she was in poor health.’

  ‘She is, but because of that she is unable to go out very much. She lacks diversion. I think she would enjoy a visit from someone new.’

  ‘And you think it would not tire her too much? It seems an imposition to ask her to recall what must have been a trivial incident.’

  ‘On the contrary.’ James paused, then went on with a wry grin, ‘The fact is, the thing she misses most is gossip. A chance to relive the incident will appeal to her.’

  Kean’s rather gloomy expression was replaced by a sudden warm smile. ‘In that case, I shall be delighted to entertain her. Five-thirty, you said? I’ll see you then.’

  James watched him walk away, his uneven steps bearing witness to that old injury. He returned to his desk with frisson of excitement. If this was, indeed, Angel’s real father, how delighted May would be to learn of it when he next wrote.

  Kean was at the door when James locked up for the night. As they walked towards his house, he asked, ‘This young lady, did you say her name was May?’

  ‘May Lavender, yes.’

  ‘Would I be right in guessing that she is more than just a casual acquaintance?’

  James glanced sideways at him. This was a little too personal for his liking. ‘We are … friends.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry. I was wondering what made her decide to emigrate.’

  ‘Her father, whom she believed to be dead, wrote out of the blue. He had struck gold and was now a rich man. He asked her to go out to join him.’

  Kean gave a low whistle. ‘What an amazing story! From the workhouse to riches!’

  ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’

  ‘It could be the same for Amy – Angel as you call her – if we can find her. I am also now pretty well off.’

  ‘I believe the people who adopted her are quite comfortably off, too,’ James said. ‘Tha
t is, if Angelina is really your Amy.’

  ‘Of course.’ He sighed. ‘I had this dream of coming home and taking her out of the gloom of the workhouse to a life of sunshine and flowers. I suppose I shall have to forget that now.’

  They reached the modest but well-proportioned house where James had grown up and were met in the hall by the parlourmaid.

  ‘Flossie, this is Mr Kean. He wants to meet Mama. Is she well enough for a visitor?’

  ‘The mistress is dressed and resting in the drawing room, sir. Shall I ask?’

  ‘Yes, please do.’

  The maid returned quickly. ‘Missis says will you please walk in, sir.’

  Mrs Brackenridge was reclining on a chaise longue and James was glad to see that her colour, sometimes hectically feverish, was normal. He went to her and kissed her cheek.

  ‘Mama, this is Mr Kean. He has just returned from several years in South Africa and he has something very particular he wants to ask you about.’

  She stretched out a hand and Kean took it with a small bow. ‘I’m very grateful to you for sparing the time to see me, ma’am.’

  ‘Oh, as to that, time is something I have plenty of these days. Please take a seat. James, ask Flossie to bring tea.’ The two men seated themselves and she went on, ‘Now, what was it you wanted to ask?’

  Kean looked at James for guidance and he said, ‘Mother, do you remember, about two years ago, there was that unpleasant business when May Lavender thought she recognised a little girl and the girl’s mother tried to get her sacked?’

  ‘I certainly do!’ Mrs Brackenridge replied. ‘The woman made a ridiculous fuss and the poor little girl was most upset.’

  ‘Why was the mother so annoyed, do you think?’

  ‘I never understood that. Everyone knows the child is adopted.’

  James and Richard Kean exchanged glances. ‘You’re quite sure about that?’ James asked.

  ‘My dear boy, I may be a semi-invalid but I’m not in my dotage. Of course I’m sure.’

  ‘Mother, we think that Mr Kean here may be the child’s true father. He was forced to abandon her when his wife died just as he was about to take ship for South Africa. Now he has returned and he has asked me, well asked Mr Weaver, to help him find her.’

  Mrs Brackenridge turned her gaze on Kean. ‘Are you an Irishman, sir?’

  ‘Irish? No. Why do you ask?’

  ‘From what I remember, the story was that the child was the daughter of an Irish relation whose wife had died and left him to care for her alone.’

  Kean looked crestfallen. ‘Then perhaps I am looking in the wrong place. I have never set foot in Ireland.’

  ‘Do you remember the woman’s name? The adoptive mother?’ James asked.

  ‘Marguerite Connor McBride. He’s something in the tea trade, but there is supposed to be an estate in Ireland somewhere. The McBrides have always given themselves airs. I believe it was his brother who was the child’s father.’

  Kean reached for his wallet. ‘Mrs Brackenridge, do you recall what the little girl looked like?’

  ‘Pretty little thing with golden curls.’

  ‘Does this look anything like her?’

  He handed the worn paper with the sketch to the old lady, who scrutinised it through her pince-nez. ‘Yes, it could be her. Of course, it was some time ago and the child was a good deal older than she is here, but yes, it could be her.’

  ‘If I could just see her,’ Kean said. ‘I’m sure I should know her.’

  ‘Do you know where the McBrides live?’ James asked.

  His mother shook her head. ‘Not precisely. We were never on visiting terms. I believe it was out Toxteth way somewhere. Let me think. Devonshire Road, I believe.’

  ‘How did you say Miss Lavender knew the child?’ Kean asked, looking at James.

  James rose hurriedly. ‘We mustn’t tire my mother any more. I’ll see you out.’

  In the hall he said in a low voice, ‘I should prefer it if you didn’t mention the workhouse to my mother. May tried to keep her background a secret, once she had obtained her place as a milliner’s apprentice.’

  Kean looked at him sharply and then nodded. ‘Understood. Your mother wouldn’t approve of your … friendship … if she knew.’

  ‘Quite,’ James said briefly. ‘What will you do now?’

  Kean sighed. ‘I don’t know. I may be on a wild goose chase. But I think I’ll find Devonshire Road and just hang around a bit. Even if I knew the precise address I could hardly ring the doorbell and ask to see little Miss McBride. But there’s a chance I might see her out for a walk, or going to school or something.’

  ‘Well, I wish you luck,’ James said. ‘Look, can we keep in touch? I may not be able to help in a professional capacity but I’d like to know how you get on. Can we meet for a drink sometime?’

  ‘I’m staying at the Adelphi,’ Kean said. ‘Why don’t you drop in after work tomorrow and I’ll tell you if I’ve discovered anything?’

  Next evening, when they were both settled in the hotel bar with a glass of beer, James said, ‘Well? Any luck?’

  ‘None at all, I’m afraid,’ Kean replied. ‘I found the address easily enough, by asking a delivery boy who was passing. I hung around for a while, till I realised I must look rather suspicious. Then I had an idea. I saw a woman go out and get into a cab, obviously the lady of the house, so I waited until she was well out if the way, then I went and knocked on the door and asked if Mrs McBride was at home. Of course, she wasn’t, so I said, bold as brass, perhaps I could speak to Miss McBride. The maid gave me a bit of an odd look and said Miss Angelina was not there either. That struck me as a bit odd. I’d been there since early morning and I’d seen a man I assume was Mr McBride leave and then his wife, but I swear no one else went either in or out.’

  ‘Perhaps the maid thought it was best to say she was out,’ James said. ‘She must have wondered what you could possibly want with a girl of, what eight, nine?’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ Kean agreed reluctantly. ‘I seem to have hit a dead end. I’ve got to get on with the job I came to do. I can’t stand around in Devonshire Road all day hoping for a glimpse of her.’

  ‘You’d probably get yourself arrested anyway,’ James said. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t see any way forward at the moment.’

  Later, over dinner, his mother said, ‘Has your friend got any further with his enquiries?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. He found the address in Devonshire Road but there was no sign of the little girl.’

  ‘What will he do now?’

  ‘I think he may give up. It’s a shame, because I really think Angelina may be his child.’

  ‘Hmm. A pity. Poor man.’ Mrs Brackenridge thought for a moment. ‘I tell you who might know more about her than I do. Laura Pearson. Her husband sits on the same committees and goes to the same club as Connor McBride and I fancy she knows the family quite well.’

  ‘Could I speak to her?’

  ‘She might find it odd if you approached her directly. But I’ve known her for years. Why don’t I invite her to tea and see what I can find out?’

  ‘Are you quite sure you’re up to it? I don’t want you to tire yourself.’

  His mother gave him a slightly mischievous smile. ‘It’s something to take my mind off my aches and pains. You don’t know how tedious it is to be an invalid. This will make me feel I’m not quite useless.’

  ‘You’re not useless, mother. You never have been. But if you can help Richard Kean to find his daughter it will be an act of kindness.’

  ‘I’ll send Laura an invitation tomorrow. Perhaps you could get away from work early and just happen to come home in time to meet her?’

  ‘Let me know which day, and I’ll do my best.’

  Three days later James put his head into Mr Weaver’s office.

  ‘I wonder if I could leave half an hour early, sir. I’ve dealt with all the outstanding items and my mother has invited someone to tea whom she wants
me to meet.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Weaver gave him a knowing look. ‘And on this occasion you are happy to make the acquaintance?’

  James smiled a little sheepishly. He knew what was in Weaver’s mind. His mother had been trying to introduce him to suitable young ladies for a year or more and normally he did his best to avoid them. ‘Oh well, I don’t like to disappoint her,’ he said.

  ‘Off you go, then.’ Weaver smiled. He had developed a soft spot for James. He had been with him for several years and he was a good pupil.

  James found his mother presiding over the tea table with a lady who struck him as being rather over-dressed for the occasion.

  ‘Oh, James!’ his mother exclaimed. ‘You’re home early. How nice. This is Mrs Pearson. Laura, this is my son James. He is studying to be a solicitor.’

  James took the offered hand and bent his head over it. ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, ma’am.’

  ‘James, do you remember that time you came to collect me from Freeman’s and Mrs Connor McBride was there with her little girl?’

  James feigned an effort of memory. ‘Yes, I think so. Pretty little thing with golden hair.’

  ‘That’s right. I was just asking Mrs Pearson if she knew what had become of her. I’ve never seen her since that day. Has something happened to the poor child?’

  ‘Poor child indeed!’ Laura Pearson gave a grimace. ‘Don’t be fooled by that angelic face. She’s turned into a little monster.’