Workhouse Angel

by Holly Green

  ‘Now, you remember this song I taught you the other day?’ he said, and played a few bars. Angelina nodded.

  ‘Will you sing it for these folk, then? I’ve been telling them what a fine voice you have.’

  Her first reaction was to refuse, but she loved Leary and did not want to displease him. She nodded again. He played the opening bars again and she started to sing, and was immediately aware of a hush spreading round the room. As always, once she heard her own voice she took courage and, as the last voices round the edge of the room died away, the sense of power over her audience brought a rush of pride. When the song came to an end it was greeted with applause and demands for more. She sang two more of the songs Leary had taught her. Then he said, ‘Now hark ye. I know you’re all God fearing folk, but you’ll not hear anything to match this in any church in the land. Sing the “Agnus Dei”, Maeve.’

  She sang unaccompanied, each note dropping like clear water into the silence, and when it was over there was no applause, only a long, communal sigh.

  Leary smiled and patted her shoulder and she went back to sit with Dervla and the others. It was only then that she saw that Killian and Quinn were going round the room holding out their caps and collecting money.

  A little later, as shifting positions among the crowd brought Leary within earshot, she heard him saying, ‘She’s a changeling child, for sure. We found her wandering by the stone circle at Lough Gur, which is a magical place, as you all know. Did you ever hear a human child sing like that?’

  The men round him nodded gravely and cast sidelong looks at Angelina. She hid her face in her apron, not sure whether to giggle or weep. She knew, with the part of her mind that clung to common sense, that Leary’s story was a fiction; but there was another part that wondered if perhaps it might be true. After all, she had been told that she was a foundling. Maybe she really was a fairy child. One thing was certain: if everyone believed that she was, there was no chance that her father – if he was her father – would ever be able to trace her.

  Fifteen

  When James returned from the office on the day after his meeting with Lizzie Findlay, he was greeted in the hallway by Flossie, in a state of agitation.

  ‘Mistress has had a visitor, and it left her in a right state.’

  ‘A visitor? Who?’

  ‘A lady, sir. A Mrs McBride.’

  James felt a cold hand grab his stomach. ‘McBride? Dammit! Is my mother in bed?’

  ‘No, sir. She’s in the drawing room. She’s rallied now, but after the lady left she was taken quite faint.’

  James turned to the door of the drawing room. ‘Thank you, Flossie. I’ll see what has happened. Leave it to me.’

  Mrs Brackenridge was reclining on a chaise longue and appeared quite calm, but James saw the hectic flush on her cheekbones that always meant she was in pain. He crossed quickly to where she lay and knelt down beside her.

  ‘How are you, Mama? Can I get you some of your drops?’

  ‘Thank you, dear. There’s no need. Flossie fetched them for me a few minutes ago. I shall be well directly.’

  ‘Flossie says you have had a visitor, Mrs McBride.’

  A faint ironic smile touched his mother’s lips. ‘Aren’t I the favoured one? Marguerite McBride is very choosy about whom she visits, and I have been off her “at home” list ever since that time we met at the milliner’s, when May recognised her little girl.’

  ‘What did she want?’

  ‘Ostensibly, to wish me a speedy recovery. She said she had heard from Laura Pearson that I was unwell and wondered of there was anything she could do to help.’

  ‘But really …?’

  ‘After a few minutes, she got to the point. She asked if I remembered Angelina. Of course, I said I did – but only vaguely. After all, it was some time ago. Then she said that it had come to her notice that you were making enquiries about her whereabouts; that you had even accosted the girl who used to be her nursemaid in the street and interrogated her. Of course, I made out that I knew nothing about it, that you never discussed your work with me.’

  ‘That’s good! Was that the end of it?’

  ‘Oh no, far from it. She cast off any pretence that this was a social call at that point. She said that she understood that you had even been to see an old business rival of her husband’s and that she and her husband resented anyone interfering in their affairs. She said I should warn you that there might be “unpleasant consequences” if you continued and I should remind you of what happened to the business rival in question when he crossed Mr McBride. What did happen to him, James?’

  James drew a deep breath and sighed it out. ‘His warehouse burnt down and as a consequence he went bankrupt.’

  ‘Oh dear!’

  He took hold of her hand. ‘Don’t let it worry you, Mama. It’s only an idle threat, intended to intimidate me into keeping my nose out of McBride’s affairs. Setting fire to a warehouse down on the docks might be blamed on an accident – as indeed it was – but burning down a house in a respectable street in the middle of the city is a totally different proposition.’

  ‘All the same,’ his mother said, ‘I would be easier in my mind if you were not involved in this business. Do you need to take such an active part in Mr Kean’s investigation?’

  ‘Probably not, but I feel extremely sorry for him, and for Angelina if everything I’ve heard is true. But as it happens, I shall not be working with him for a while, at least. He has gone to Ireland, to see if he can pick up any clues as to her whereabouts, and I must get back to my regular duties in the office and to studying for my exams.’

  He saw the relief on his mother’s face. ‘Yes, you should do that, my dear. I, too, have sympathy for Mr Kean and I hope his quest is successful, but you have to consider what is most important to you. I am afraid you have been neglecting your studies lately.’

  ‘It’s true, I have,’ James agreed ruefully, ‘but I’ll put that right from now on. I promise.’

  ‘That’s good. That sets my mind at rest. Now, you must go and have your dinner. Cook will be keeping it hot for you. Don’t worry about me.’

  ‘You are sure?’

  ‘Yes, yes. As long as I know you are keeping away from that horrible man.’

  ‘I will, Mama,’ he promised, but thought to himself as he sat down to eat: but all the same, I wonder why McBride is so keen to stop anyone from enquiring into his affairs.

  He reported the conversation to Mr Weaver the following morning and the little man’s nose twitched more violently than ever.

  ‘I doubt very much if McBride would go to the lengths of sending his wife to threaten your mother if it was only a question of his daughter’s disappearance. There’s something more sinister behind this. I think we should have a word with my friend, the inspector.’

  They met with Inspector Vane over steak pie and flagons of ale in the wood-panelled saloon bar of the Philharmonic Hotel. His eyes narrowed as he listened to James’s account and at the end he nodded.

  ‘We’ve been keeping an eye on McBride for some time now. We are pretty sure that he is using his tea-importing business as a cover for some illegal activity, but so far we haven’t been able to come up with any definite proof. We suspect that he has a second warehouse somewhere, under another name, and that something other than tea is coming in in his tea chests, but we don’t have enough evidence to warrant impounding his goods and conducting a thorough search. If we knew exactly when the next consignment was coming in it would help; but the fact that he is so keen to stop your enquiries suggests to me that it may be imminent. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.’

  ‘I’m happy to do anything I can to put a stop to that man’s activities,’ James said, ‘but at the same time I have to think of my mother’s safety. I’ve told her that there is nothing to worry about, that what was implied is just an empty threat, but I can’t pretend it doesn’t worry me.’

  ‘Quite right, too,’ Vane replied. ‘McBride is not a man
to be crossed with impunity. I’m sure that the initial threat was just to warn you off and he has no intention of carrying it out, but to set your mind at rest, give me your address and I will tell my men to keep a special eye out in the vicinity of your house when they are out on the beat.’

  James thanked him and handed him one of his cards.

  As the inspector pocketed it, he added, ‘Take my advice. Keep out of McBride’s way and don’t involve yourself any further.’

  James took the words to heart and concentrated, as he had promised his mother, on his work and his studies for his final solicitor’s examination. In spite of his good resolution, however, he could not dismiss Richard’s quest for his daughter from his mind. He remembered McBride’s connection with the Fenians and Lizzie’s remark that he had got ‘his own people’ involved in the search. McBride obviously had more to hide than the origin of his adopted daughter, and James worried that his determination to stifle any investigation into his affairs might put Richard in danger.

  A week passed without Richard’s return, or any news of him. James was surprised, but concluded that he must have found some clues about Angelina’s whereabouts, which he was following up. He hoped that it might be true, but logic told him that if she had not been found by now the likelihood was that she was either dead or in the hands of some unscrupulous person who was concealing her for his own ends.

  Before long, however, something occurred that took his mind off both his studies and Angelina’s fate. He returned home one evening to find his mother dressed for entertaining guests and looking brighter than he had seen her for some time.

  ‘James, you will never guess who came to call on me this afternoon.’

  ‘Who, Mama?’

  ‘Felicity Forsyth and her daughter Prudence.’

  ‘Yes?’ He was at a loss to understand why this should be a cause for excitement.

  ‘You must remember Prue Forsyth! You went to dancing classes with her when you were both children.’

  ‘Oh yes, vaguely.’ He recalled a plump, rather ungainly girl with unruly dark plaits and a tendency to spots.

  ‘She has been away in Switzerland, being “finished”, and has just got back. You would never believe the transformation in that girl! She has turned into a real beauty.’

  James’s heart sank. This was a familiar scenario. For the last two years his mother had been at pains to introduce him to a series of young women, whom she regarded as suitable potential wives for a rising young solicitor. Even before he met May, he had rebelled at the idea of having possible mates presented to him, and he had never felt any real attraction to any of them. They were, by and large, girls he had grown up with from families he had known since childhood and he had never experienced the excitement of meeting someone new and different – or not until he chanced to encounter a milliner’s apprentice called May Lavender. What it was that enchanted him he had never quite been able to analyse. Perhaps it was her innocence of all the flirtatious mannerisms that more sophisticated young women used, almost by instinct. Perhaps it was her open-eyed wonder at every new experience. He could show her things and teach her things that were simply a matter of boring familiarity to the other girls he knew. More than anything, it was her fierce courage, which overcame her natural timidity when faced with any injustice or threat to those she loved. The combination of all these had stirred his heart in a way no other woman had ever done and made him prepared to face the disapproval of society and follow her to the other side of the world. It was only his concern for his mother, in her weak state of health, that had so far prevented him.

  Mrs Breckenridge had made it clear from the start that she did not regard May as a suitable consort. James had the impression that when she had learned about how, largely as a result of her interference, May had decided to emigrate, she had felt that the threat was over, and for a while he had been spared her efforts to marry him off. Now it seemed it was all starting up again.

  ‘Really?’ He responded to her enthusiastic description in a tone as dismissive as he could contrive.

  His mother was not to be put off. ‘Now that she is back, her parents have decided it is time she came out. So they are organising a ball for her debut. It is to be quite a grand affair, and, of course, you are invited.’

  James sighed. ‘Really, Mama, I would rather not. I –’ he thought of the only excuse that might carry some weight with her ‘– I can’t spare the time away from my studies.’

  ‘Rubbish! You spent quite enough time on that wild goose chase after little Angelina McBride. You can spare one evening to meet friends and see some society. You are becoming quite a recluse. Besides, the Forsyths will be most insulted if you refuse the invitation.’

  James looked at her and saw how important this was and how the prospect had given her new energy. ‘Very well, Mama. I suppose I can spare one evening. You will have been invited too, of course?’

  ‘Oh yes, but I have explained that I am not strong enough for anything of that sort. You must represent us both, and come home and describe it all to me. I shall look forward to that.’

  So when the official invitation arrived, for the following Saturday week, James had no option but to accept.

  Richard Kean had no difficulty in identifying the Convent of the Faithful Followers of Jesus from what Lizzie Findlay had told him, and on the evening following his parting from James, he drew up in a hired gig outside the main doors of The Laurels. When a lay sister opened the door he doffed his hat and proffered his card.

  ‘I apologise for calling so late in the day, but I should greatly appreciate it if I could speak to your Mother Superior, or whoever is the senior person in charge of this convent.’

  ‘May I ask what your business is with Reverend Mother?’

  ‘It is a personal matter, concerning my daughter.’

  ‘Please come in. I will ask Reverend Mother if she is at leisure to speak with you.’

  After a short wait, Richard was shown up to Mother Mary Benedicta’s office. She greeted him with her usual grave courtesy.

  ‘You wish to speak to me about your daughter, I understand. Do you wish to enrol her as one of our pupils?’

  ‘No, ma’am. I am afraid I may have slightly misled the sister who let me in. I am here to enquire about Angelina McBride, whom I believe to be my daughter.’

  Mary Benedicta frowned. ‘What grounds do you have for believing that?’

  Briefly, Richard explained the circumstances that had led him to abandon his baby daughter at the gates of the workhouse. ‘It is a story which does me no credit, I admit. My only excuse is that I was driven by necessity. But now I wish to make up for my previous neglect and give my daughter the loving home I believe she has been denied up to now.’

  The Reverend Mother’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘I have made enquiries in Liverpool about the people who adopted her and I have good grounds for thinking that she has not been well treated. The fact that she chose to run away, rather than return home, suggests to me that her fear of her adopted father was stronger than her fear of what might befall her, alone and unprotected, on the road. Please can you tell me what progress has been made in the search for her?’

  Mary Benedicta folded her hands on the desk in front of her. ‘Mr Kean, can you give me any proof that Angelina is, in fact, your daughter?’

  Richard sighed and shook his head. ‘So far, I must admit, the evidence is circumstantial, at best. I am hoping that if I can just see her I shall know.’

  The Reverend Mother rose to her feet. ‘I am sorry, Mr Kean, but under the circumstances I cannot discuss Angelina with you. You have told me a very touching story, but without concrete proof I must continue to regard Mr McBride as Angelina’s legitimate guardian. I bid you good evening.’

  Richard rose also. ‘Can you not at least tell me if there has been any news of her?’

  A glint of suspicion narrowed the nun’s eyes. ‘You are not from the newspapers, are you
?’

  ‘No! No, please believe me, my story is true. I am only concerned with my … with Angelina’s welfare.’

  Mary Benedicta’s expression was austere. ‘And I have explained that without proof I cannot tell you anymore. Good evening, Mr Kean.’

  Richard saw that there was no point in continuing the conversation and took his leave.

  As the lay sister was escorting him to the door, she remarked, ‘I’m sure your daughter will be very happy here if you decide to entrust her to us. All our girls are really well-behaved and do extremely well.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Richard said, ‘but I understand you have had one instance where a girl apparently was not happy here. Did I not hear that she had run away?’

  ‘Ah!’ the sister sighed deeply. ‘Poor little thing. It’s a tragedy, so it is. Such a beautiful child, and such a voice! You should have heard her sing.’

  ‘Sing?’

  ‘The voice of an angel, no less. But there, sometimes I think the angels wanted her for the heavenly choir, so they took her to themselves.’

  Richard looked at her sharply. ‘You think she’s dead?’

  The sister crossed herself. ‘We must pray not. But if the worst comes to the worst it’s a comfort to think of her sitting at the feet of Our Saviour and Him delighting in the sound of that pure, innocent voice.’

  Richard drove back into the town in a sombre mood. Angelina had now been missing for several weeks and he had to face the fact that if she had not been found the outlook was grim indeed. It was too late to pursue his enquiries any further that night, so he took a room in a local hotel and spent a night haunted by images of the terrible fate that might have befallen his daughter.

  First thing next morning, he sought out a small shop that offered engraving and printing services. A remark by Mother Mary Benedicta had given him an idea, which would save him from having to go over the wretched details again and again of how he had lost touch with his daughter. By the expedient of offering twice the normal fee, he succeeded within the hour in possessing a batch of business cards. He then made his way to the police station and asked to see the officer in charge of the investigation into Angelina’s disappearance.