A quarter of an hour later Lisa returned with the letter as instructed. Obediently she dropped the pieces into the waste-paper basket. By that time the two women were talking over tea at the lace-clothed table, a lamp lit cosily against the wet dusk outside. Over the teacup, Miss Drayton watched Lisa closely, able to define defiance lingering in the pressure of lips and tilt of chin. When the girl had left, the woman raised her eyebrows slightly.
“Refresh my memory about that girl,” she requested in her excessively refined tones. “I read so many dossiers in the course of my work. Born illegitimate, was she not?”
“That is correct,” Mrs. Bradlaw replied. “Her mother was a linen maid turned out of her employment when it became known she was pregnant.”
Miss Drayton shuddered delicately. “I prefer to say in the family way.”
The reply was sharp. “I never use euphemisms. The young woman gave birth in a barn. A farmer’s wife took pity on her and kept the baby until the mother found work in a clothing factory here in Leeds and was able to send for the child. Where the two of them lived I have never heard. Most probably in a back-street hovel. Eventually, as frequently happens, ill health brought the young woman lower and lower until finally she took Lisa to the workhouse with her and died a few days later.” The superintendent frowned meditatively. “I have never heard a child scream so much at being taken from a parent.”
“Who was the father?”
“Unknown, as far as records are concerned.” Mrs. Bradlaw had her own theory about the fathering of Lisa, but since it was only a supposition she did not voice it. Servant girls were all too often seduced and taken advantage of by gentlemen in a household. Lisa had inherited an intellect from a source other than the illiterate creature who had died in a workhouse bed.
Miss Drayton accepted another cup of tea and mulled over what she had been told. She had seen right away that there was exceptionally bad blood in Lisa. Since the girl had been conceived in wantonness, as so many were, what else could be expected of a lustful union? It was all very well for her to be recommended as honest, hard-working, and conscientious. None of that held true when such girls became involved with men, for it was then that any sense they had flew out of their heads like a bird released from a cage. Lisa would have to be watched closely for her own protection as well as to guard the good name of the society. Miss Drayton prided herself on her own chasteness. In forty-three years no man’s touch had ever defiled her.
“You do keep track of the children who pass through your Distribution Home, do you not?” Mrs. Bradlaw was saying.
Miss Drayton eyed the superintendent coolly. She could always locate mistrust, often when the persons themselves believed it suppressed. “My late father would not have it otherwise. I follow his precedent in all things to the best of my humble ability.”
She kept a special, saintly voice in which to speak of her father. It came naturally to her, for she had maintained an illusion of their relationship for so long she had come to believe implicitly that he had been devoted to her and she to him. The truth was the reverse. At first he had adored his only child, born late in life by a second marriage. Made a widower again before she was a week old, he had indulged her extravagantly. It came as a great shock to him when he realised she had grown into a spoilt and selfish adult whom he thoroughly disliked. Out of his disappointment, he turned in his retirement from her insatiable greed, to concentrate his hard-earned fortune on children in real need, dealing with individual cases that came to his notice and giving generously to hostels catering for them. Although he tried to keep his good works out of the public eye, it was inevitable that his name should become widely known and esteemed. He refused no case of appeal that was genuine. His wealth drained away. When he died, Emily Drayton found herself practically penniless, with everyone looking to her to take her father’s place.
Her pride caused her to flinch from admitting to penury. For a few weeks she did not know what to do or which way to turn. Then she hit upon the idea of the Herbert Drayton Memorial Society and saw it linked to the homeless. After all, she was homeless herself, having had to sell her childhood home and everything in it in order to exist. From the moment she launched the society, donations flowed in and had never ceased. If the figures ebbed a little, a fundraising appeal conducted in a ladylike and gracious manner soon adjusted matters. She had been transporting parties of children to Canada for several years and her organisation could not be bettered.
“I am well aware of your ideals,” Mrs. Bradlaw was saying rather irritably. “You mentioned them several times to the governors in my hearing. It is just that my own experience has taught me how difficult it is to follow up young people who leave our care. You are dealing with vast areas and poor communications, yet you seem quite unbeset by any problems ensuring the children’s welfare.” Mrs. Bradlaw’s frankness came through unadulterated. “I would have been more impressed if you had admitted that things go wrong sometimes.”
Miss Drayton’s poise was unassailed, although her sly grey eyes narrowed. “Canada is not England, Mrs. Bradlaw. There is no teeming population to swallow the children up without a trace. Outlying districts are visited at least once a year to see that all is well.” Her voice took on a crisp edge. “On a point closer home, I may tell you that if I were in charge of this orphanage, I should keep immediate track of Lisa Shaw. She looked more than ready to flout your authority, in my opinion.”
“Nonsense!” The superintendent reared her head. “That matter is completely settled.” The dislike that each woman felt for the other spiked the air between them, even though somehow conventionalities were maintained. “Why not try the plum-cake, Miss Drayton?”
“Most kind.” Miss Drayton took a slice, smiling maliciously to herself. No doubt Mrs. Bradlaw hoped it would choke her, but that would not stop her enjoying it. She was fond of good food, as she was of all the luxuries of life. Since the founding of the Herbert Drayton Memorial Society, she had never gone short of anything she wanted.
Mrs. Bradlaw was relieved when her visitor departed. There would be no further meeting until Miss Drayton came to collect the emigrants and take them to Canada. She paced the floor slowly, barely noticing the two young inmates clearing the tea away in answer to her bell. To send for Lisa was tantamount to admitting that the odious benefactress knew more about those in her care than she did. Unfortunately, it could not be denied that Lisa had been a rebel once and might well revert under the pressure of disappointment and upheaval to the same state again. Twisting around on her heel, she addressed the child carrying the tea-tray from the room.
“Wait, Joan! When you have deposited those things in the kitchen, find Lisa Shaw and send her to me. At once.”
She was still pacing the floor when the messenger returned, scared at having been unable to carry out the command. Lisa was nowhere to be found. Mrs. Bradlaw went upstairs immediately to inspect the dormitory cupboard where the older girls shared shelves. Lisa’s few clothes and possessions had gone.
It was a long time since the orphanage had had a runaway. Mrs. Bradlaw found herself consumed with such rage against Lisa that when she returned to her study it was to close the door and lean against it, shaking from head to foot. How dare the girl humiliate her by making Emily Drayton’s taunt prove true! It was particularly galling to realise that had she taken heed of the woman’s warning when it was given, she would have been in time to stop Lisa making her escape. Worst of all, what credibility would she have with the board when it was learned that the inmate she had most trusted in the emigration party had let her down? She saw all her years of effort and struggle coming to naught, everything she had hoped for in the future baulked by those of the governors never in sympathy with her who, ever afterwards, would have her failure with Lisa to fling in her face.
With a muttered exclamation of fury, she swung across to the wall telephone and lifted the receiver, intending to notify the police and the governors in turn of Lisa’s disappearance. Then she stopped
abruptly in the whirling of the handle to alert the operator and quickly replaced the receiver. Not yet. She would let no one know yet. Even her staff must be kept in ignorance for as long as possible. It was a calculated risk, but she must take it. Clasping and unclasping her hands, she sank down into the chair at her desk, suddenly wearied. Had she been prone to tears, she would have wept with frustration.
*
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