How the ship creaked and groaned! So far the swell had been gentle and everybody had been able to eat the supper of bread and cheese given out from the steerage galley. All around her the children slept, some whimpering as though they dreamed, and a few snored as if to match that which came from the other side of the sailcloth. Somewhere in the gloom an emigrant woman, one of the independent travellers in the hold, was trying to soothe her baby who had awakened. The thin cry stopped abruptly as the infant was put to the breast, and all was still in that direction again. With the exception of the Herbert Drayton group, every party had its adult escorts sleeping in the steerage quarters. Miss Drayton had simply bade hers good night and gone up the companionway to a cabin on another deck.
Turning on her side, Lisa pulled the thin blanket closer about her ears. It was as well that the younger ones were sharing bunks, for it was cold below the water-line. She thought she heard a scuttling and tried not to think of rats. In the morning the caramels were gone and only shreds of the paper cone remained.
Nothing went right on the voyage after that. The weather changed; most of the children were seasick; and the food dished out from the galley was of the poorest quality. Lisa tried to get her charges up on deck whenever the rain and rough wind eased enough for them to be able to take some exercise in the fresh air. It was always cold and they shivered in their inadequate clothing, but she organised singing games for them to play which kept them moving. Children from other groups joined them and sometimes the deck was teeming with a skipping, dancing throng. Passengers from the better part of the ship came to the rails of an upper deck to watch. It was when Lisa and her own little circle were taking a rest that she heard an expression used to describe them that was to alert her to the possibility of prejudice awaiting them in Canada. A Canadian woman in furs was asked by her well-clad young daughter why there were so many children on board. Her disparaging reply was clearly heard.
“They are Home children, Prunella. That is to say they come from the streets or from dreadful institutions into the homes of decent people in Canada. Come away, dear. Even at this distance, there is no telling what infection one might catch from that type of person.”
Since Miss Drayton was so rarely available, making an appearance only briefly once a day from her First Class accommodation on the top deck, Lisa asked another of the adult escorts, whose name was Mrs. Plum, which suited her comfortable appearance, about what she had overheard. Mrs. Plum, who was escorting a group of girls for the Dr. Barnado charitable organisation, was liked and respected by the girls under her supervision. She tried to be reassuring.
“I’ll be honest with you, Lisa. You will meet hostility and suspicion just as you will meet kindness and friendliness. It is fortunate that not so many Canadians these days view Home children in the light you have described to me, but mud sticks from the days in the beginning of the movement, when the British Government seized the chance to rid themselves of hundreds of guttersnipes and thieving young street urchins under the cloak of emigration. The truth is that many of those children did well in their new lands, whether it was Canada, South Africa, or Australia, but the bad ones tainted the good name of the rest and some of that still lingers on today.”
She did not add that, human nature being what it was, the Home children of that time, as in the present day, were as much abused and sinned against as they had ever sinned themselves. Some charitable organisations were far too lax in making sure that suitable homes were found, merely eager to unload the children on the assumption that anything was better for them than whatever they had known previously. Thankfully Dr. Barnado was not of that ilk. He took a personal interest in the fate of every child, boy or girl, and not only had he visited Canada himself more than once, but his charter for the vetting of character and the health of Home children, plus the need for reports on their whereabouts, progress and welfare after they had been placed in a home or employment, had been adopted by the Canadian Government. Yet the loopholes remained. Far too many children slipped through them and were lost to any of those who would have cared for their well-being.
“Thank you for your explanation, Mrs. Plum.”
“I hope I have put your mind at rest. At least you and the other young emigrants today have been prepared for your new life. There you have a great advantage over your predecessors. In the early days they came in ignorance, having known only crowded slums and the constant rumble of traffic, to find themselves in isolated places miles and miles from the nearest neighbour, which must have been mental torture for many of them. You will know what to expect from such circumstances and will be ready to adapt.”
“We had two geography lessons, and the superintendent of our orphanage loaned us older girls some books on Canada, which I read. Not everybody did.”
Mrs. Plum looked perplexed. “Do you mean that Miss Drayton did not give you a talk herself on the subject?”
“She probably did not deem it necessary since we are to be in Toronto, which from what I read is a city, like any other city.”
“All of you? In Toronto, I mean. But I thought the Herbert Drayton Memorial Society usually sent some children west to the prairies.”
“Western Canada has never been mentioned to us.”
“Oh. Then I must be mistaken. I have never visited Toronto myself, but I believe it has a pretty location on the lake. I’m sure you will be happy there.”
Lisa pondered over what had been said. She could not endure the thought of the little ones she knew so well being scattered out of her range, at least not until they were thoroughly settled with their adoptive families. No, there was no need to worry. They would all be in Toronto. Even Mrs. Bradlaw had been sure of that.
There was more rough weather and a good deal more seasickness before Canada loomed on the horizon. The new would-be Canadians streamed down the gangway in pouring rain to the noise and bustle of the Halifax dock area. Some emigrant criminals, about to be deported, jeered at them through the bars of a stone building. Trains with vast black locomotives hissing steam were boarded by individual parties, who occupied special original “colonist” cars, which had wooden seats with no leather padding. A pot-bellied stove with a scuttle of fuel beside it at one end of these carriages gave facilities for cooking. It was cosily alight and gave out a welcome heat as Lisa and the others in the Herbert Drayton party came aboard their car.
The windows steamed up as they divested themselves of their damp outer garments and hung them on wooden pegs. The younger ones knelt on the seats to wipe hands across the glass and peer out. The older girls were receiving instructions from Miss Drayton.
“You will take turns in preparing the meals in pairs. I have brought food supplies from the ship to last until tomorrow. Whenever the train stops to take on water and coal, I shall alight to purchase bread and anything else that is needed from the local store or from people who bring their wares to the passengers. It is a long time now since breakfast, so two of you may start a meal right away. Rosie — and you, Lisa.”
Outside in the rain there came the sing-song call of the conductor. “All aboard!”
“We’re off!” Rosie exclaimed. The brass bell on the locomotive clanged an announcement of departure as the great train began to pull out. Rosie and Lisa would have liked to join their companions in looking out of the windows, but Emily had opened a hamper and was handing them two cans of stew to heat up on the stove.
It was a long journey and there was plenty of chance to observe the passing landscape before they reached their destination two days later. The nights were particularly uncomfortable, since they had no pillows and had to cover themselves with coats. Miss Drayton retired to a sleeping compartment and took her meals in the dining car.
At Union Station in Toronto, they trailed after Miss Drayton to waiting cabs. The city met them with warm May sunshine and an abundance of fresh green foliage. To Lisa it was as if a forest of maple trees had been trapped within the city from the time the first foundations were laid. Sha
dy branches made lace patterns everywhere over doorways and open lawns and wide streets, the nomenclature of which proclaimed loyal monarchical tribute to the mother country. The architecture was elaborately pinnacled and porched with cupolas abounding, the Parliament buildings in Queen’s Park a veritable feast of ornamentation, and church spires piercing the sky at many points. Lake Ontario, which the whole party had glimpsed while being bowled along, shone a sharp silvery blue, the harbour busy with shipping and an island lying offshore like a soft rug spread upon the surface of the water.
At Sherbourne Street, in a residential area, the girls alighted outside the house that the older ones recognised immediately from the photograph they had been shown far away in England. If anything, it appeared grander in reality, in keeping with the rest of the houses in the street, and had every sign of having recently received a new coat of paint. There were rich damask drapes at the window. A housemaid in cap and apron opened the front door, revealing a vestibule ashimmer with blue flock wallpaper, as Miss Drayton was paying the cab drivers and giving instructions about taking her cabin trunk to the back entrance. Almost at once another woman appeared from the interior of the house, a smiling, fluttering creature with an ageing, doll-like face, her greying hair coiffed upwards into a pompadour and fastened with a tortoise-shell comb that had come slightly adrift, giving her head an untidy appearance.
“Dear, dear, Emily! Welcome back again!” she exclaimed, coming down the porch steps.
“How are you, Mavis?” Miss Drayton put a cheek coolly against the other woman’s in greeting. “The house looks nice. When did the painters leave?”
“A week ago.” An anxious note crept in. “It is exactly the magnolia colour that you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Mavis. Please do not fuss. I have had a most exhausting journey.” Miss Drayton flicked a hand wearily in the direction of the new arrivals clustered in a bunch on the path behind them. “Look after those children. I’m going up to my room to rest. Have tea sent up to me.” She swept into the house.
Mavis faced the group, linking the fingers of her restless hands together and smiling vaguely. “You may tell me your names later. I have a dreadful memory and would never remember them now. I’m Miss Lapthorne, Miss Drayton’s deputy. Follow me.”
She did not take them into the house through the porch as they had expected, but led them around by a side path to the rear. There they entered by the back entrance to mount three flights of a servants’ staircase to attic accommodation, which consisted of four large rooms under the eaves, one with some old horsehair sofas and a table to serve as a sitting-room. The sleeping quarters were sparsely furnished with beds and cupboards. Apart from there being more space, they could have been back at the orphanage.
“Do we eat up ‘ere?” one of them asked in a choked voice of disappointment. It was Myrtle, who had been so impressed by the photograph, and throughout the journey had pictured entering into a lap of luxury.
“No. You will take your meals in the kitchen.”
“Don’t it get ‘ot up ‘ere in summertime?” Rosie inquired suspiciously.
“Oh, you won’t be here until then,” Miss Lapthorne replied, shaking her head in mild amusement. “Some of you older girls will be leaving before the end of the week. Everything has been arranged.” She turned to leave, looking back over her shoulder from the head of the stairs. “You are not allowed beyond the baize door of the kitchen into the rest of the house to bother Miss Drayton with your presence. However, I have a study on the second floor with access from this staircase. You may seek me out whenever you wish.”
Lisa stepped forward. “I don’t understand about everything being arranged. What of the meetings we are to have with our employers?”
Miss Lapthorne’s eyes were a lilac-blue and could have been quite lovely if she had not had a nervous habit of shifting her gaze. “Be pleased that the orphanage references, posted to me by Miss Drayton, were good enough to gain some of you employment without personal interviews.”
“What of the young ones who are to be adopted?” Lisa persisted. “Are they to be taken sight unseen?”
Miss Lapthorne flapped her hands. “Not so fast. All in good time. Get unpacked and then come downstairs to eat.”
Miss Drayton rested until the next day. By then it did not matter what previous arrangements had been made, for everything had to be postponed in any case. Amy came down with a fever which swept through the household with such ferocity that almost all were laid low in turn. The doctor believed it had been contracted on the ship and, not being sure what might develop, put the whole building into quarantine. Lisa, with her natural resilience, and Mavis Lapthorne, for all her fragile appearance, remained on their feet, working together to look after the others. It was during this period that Lisa discovered that Miss Lapthorne resorted to the bottle to sustain her in moments of stress. The only time she was not on hand to help Lisa was when she had passed out completely after indulging herself too generously.
When Mavis Lapthorne discovered afterwards that Lisa had held her tongue about the matter, she was singularly impressed. Not as much as a giggling whisper had been shared with the other girls, which — horror of horrors — might easily have reached the ears of Emily Drayton, with disastrous results. On the contrary, Lisa had actually covered up for her. When serving beef tea to Emily Drayton in her sickbed, the girl had made some excuse as to why she had made it instead of her superior.
What was more, it had been made deliciously, just as Emily liked it, and Emily was hard to please. Mavis Lapthorne resolved that Lisa should not go into domestic service elsewhere. She would make the girl her right-hand assistant. She needed someone who could be trusted to keep silent about her little need of a swig or two now and again. What was just as important, Lisa knew how to manage children. The most feverish of the patients became calmer in her presence, and querulous convalescents gave up squabbling to gather into whatever word game she had organised. What a boon it would be to have Lisa to take charge whenever unmanageable children were brought to the Distribution Home.
It took courage to make the request to Emily Drayton. Miss Lapthorne chose a suitable moment. Inclined to be forgetful, she had made a list of good reasons why Lisa should remain in Toronto and not be sent away with the rest of the older girls. Only her personal reason about her drinking habits was not written down.
“Nonsense, Mavis!” Miss Drayton reclined back against the cushions of the swing-seat on the shady veranda. “You know how much in demand my girls are these days. I like to keep up a steady supply.”
“But you can send the other fourteen as arranged. Lisa does not need to go. It would be an economy, too.”
“An economy?” Miss Drayton was always interested in cutting expenses when her own comfort was not affected. “What do you mean?”
“I could get rid of the housemaid. That would be a saving. Lisa could take her place. What better than that one of our own emigrants should receive visitors to the house. I think it would make a good impression. And you wouldn’t have to pay her any wages.”
Miss Drayton looked thoughtful, mulling over the suggestion. “Hmm. It is not often that you have any good ideas.” She gave a nod. “Very well, but it will mean hastening a decision on the placing of those two little children she guards protectively. What are their names? Minnie and Amy? Yes, that’s right. They would take up far too much of her time if they remained anywhere in the vicinity. She would want to go darting off to visit them every five minutes.”
“But that nice Mr. and Mrs. Lawson on College Street want to have Amy! They were touched by her sad background when they read the information sheet I gave them.”
“All the children have wretched backgrounds, Mavis. Please do not start getting sentimental. The Lawsons can have one of the others.” Seeing that further protest was about to be forthcoming, her eyes became steely. “Well? Do you want to keep Lisa, or do you not?”
Miss Lapthorne capitulated quickly. “Yes, I do. It s
hall be as you say. Only I think there will be trouble. Neither child will want to be parted from her.”
“Then we shall follow the usual procedure as when parting sisters from each other.”
*
Lisa was pleased when Miss Lapthorne took her out in the buggy to visit the home of a couple who had offered adoption to two of the children. They drove out through the suburb of West Toronto Junction and into the countryside where there were orchards, villas, farms, and densely wooded stretches of oak and yellow pine. The whole drive took much longer than Lisa had expected and they ate a packed lunch on the way. The farmhouse, when they reached it, was a log building erected by early settlers and enlarged at a later date. The farmer and his wife proved to be dour folk and there was a subdued look about their own offspring. Miss Lapthorne shook her head as she and Lisa left again.
“All that farmer wants is another couple of pairs of young hands that he can train to work on the land. Farmers are always desperate for cheap labour, and taking little children is a good investment for them.”
“Nobody will be sent there, will they?” Lisa asked anxiously. “Not if I can help it,” Miss Lapthorne replied, looking straight ahead. “That man rules by the strap of his belt.”
The woman went up in Lisa’s estimation. Miss Lapthorne was a weak and muddled creature in many ways, but she had kindness in her. It was evening when they arrived back at the house and as Lisa ascended the staircase she did not hear the usual chatter. With a sudden wave of foreboding, she dashed up the rest of the flight and threw open the door. The sitting-room area was deserted. She saw it was the same in the bedrooms until she came to where the young ones slept. Only eight of the ten beds were occupied and the children sprang out of the covers at once to rush to her, showing they had feared she would not return.
What the Heart Keeps Page 5
