What the Heart Keeps Read online

  “Nothing as yet.” In her distraught state Lisa gripped the edge of the desk, her face desperate. “But there’s soon to be a vacancy for an under-nursemaid at the Grange in Mountfield Avenue. I heard about it when one of the men-servants brought a basket of cast-off baby clothing for our infants from the lady of the house. It’s the sort of work I’ve always wanted. And a chance to better myself.”

  Miss Drayton was taking every word to heart. “Such impudence!” she exploded. “I’ve never heard anything like it in my life.”

  Mrs. Bradlaw held up a hand briefly, letting the visitor know that this was her province and an outsider was not to intrude. Inadvertently, she added to Miss Drayton’s sense of grievance. Quite unaware of this development, the superintendent addressed Lisa again with the same cold sternness as before. “Have you applied in writing for the post?”

  “I have the letter written. I was going to ask you for a character reference later today.”

  At any other time and in other circumstances, Mrs. Bradlaw would have given the reference. The girl had the intelligence and initiative that would enable her to adapt easily to the routine of a well-to-do household, but the request, even if it had been mannerly presented, had come too late. Three weeks too late to be exact, for it was then that the final list of names had been drawn up with the necessary papers and received the governors’ signatures and approval. None of the other emigrants had Lisa’s sense of responsibility. She had been earmarked from the start as the most useful aide to put in charge of the younger children on the journey.

  “You will bring that letter to me, Lisa,” Mrs. Bradlaw ordered stonily, “and tear it up in my study. The governors have decreed in your best interests that you shall go to Canada, and I support their decision. You may hope for a post of a nursemaid there.” Ignoring Lisa’s stricken stare, she gave one of her quick nods to encompass the whole group before her. “Dismiss.”

  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 furthe
r 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.

  *

  Lisa had made a getaway through a downstairs window at the rear of the building. Outdoor clothes for the pauper children were always hand-me-downs donated by charitable people, and she had no fear of being detected on that score as she ran as fast as she could away from the orphanage. It was raining quite heavily, which was in her favour, for it made the March evening darker than it would otherwise have been. Gas lamps threw her shadow before and after her as she pounded along, clutching the small bundle of her possessions. Keeping to the back streets, she passed the clothing factories and the shirt-making sweatshops, an area where she had once lived with her mother and still, in places, familiar from those days. Often entrusted with errands by the superintendent, she knew Leeds well and had a particular destination in mind.

  She was breathless by the time she reached it, the cobbled yard of a brewery that sent its ale far afield. The gates were still open, the men’s long day’s work not yet at an end, and she waited in the shadows as she watched wagons being loaded up with barrels and tarpaulins being tied down. When her chance came, she shot across, unseen to the nearest wagon, clambered up by way of a wheel, and slithered under the tarpaulin into the ale-smelling darkness.

  There was little room, but she made herself as comfortable as possible. Her fast pulse came as much from the indignation that burned within her as from all the running. How dare it be decided for her that she should leave the land of her birth! She saw it as a personal affront to her spirit of independence, as abusive curtailment of her inherent right as an individual to decide her own future within the realms of possibility. A choice. That was what she and the others old enough to make their own decisions should have been offered. A simple, blinking choice. Not much to ask. She almost ground her teeth at the injustice and at what it had cost her. Being made to tear up her letter had been the last straw.

  Her long cherished dream had been to become a nursemaid in a large household and work herself up through the hierarchy of the nursery world. It stemmed from the horrific day when she had been separated from her mother, whom she had never seen again. All warmth and security and happiness had seemed centred in a glimpse she had had of a kind-faced nanny pushing a perambulator in a park while a rosy-cheeked child in frilly clothes had skipped trustingly alongside, at the time she was being dragged, kicking and screaming into the orphanage. To this day she could not bear the sound of a door being slammed shut behind her.

  The night was long. The rain did not ease its drumming on the tarpaulin until shortly before dawn. Yet in spite of her being wet and cold, her elation between dozes did not diminish. Somehow and somewhere she would get honest work and prove her worth. Not securing the nursemaid’s post in Leeds was only a setback. One day she would be pushing the babies of the well-to-do through an English park on sunny mornings. On this vow to herself, she dozed again, waking when shouting resounded in the yard.

  “Whoa back! Steady there!”

  The dray-horses were being backed into the shafts of the loaded wagons, hooves clattering heavily on the cobbles. Her wagon creaked and swayed before it moved forward on a thunder of wheels out into the streets and before long into the waking countryside. She raised a flap of the tarpaulin to watch for a signpost to see in which direction she was travelling.

  Southwards. Then she would make for London. There would be plenty of work there. Yet her spirits were not quite so high as they had been. She found herself thinking of the young ones whom she normally looked after in the early morning at the orphanage. How would they react when they found her gone? The toddlers were always desperate for affection, wanting her to kiss and cuddle them. Today they would be shouted at and probably cuffed by whoever was taking her place. Then there were the five- and six-year-olds. Little Sarah could never manage to button her own boots. Amy would weep. Cora, who always vomited if made to eat up a full plateful of gruel, would be given a standard portion instead of the small amount she could digest. As for eight-year-old Minnie, who pined for her mother, and a few others of the same age who, a few weeks ago, were starving and abandoned on the streets, they would run wild without proper supervision and end up being whipped by one of old Mother Bradlaw’s assistants. Lisa groaned inwardly. The young ones had all known that before long she would be leaving the orphanage, for she had prepared them, but every child she had cared for personally would be bewildered and upset by the suddenness of her departure as well as her failure to say goodbye.

  She would write to them. That was what she would do. Just as soon as it was possible. A London postmark could not give away her whereabouts in that vast city. To distract her mind from those she had left behind, she ate some of the loaf she had had the foresight to snatch from the kitchen before her flight.

  Twice the wagon came to a halt during the morning. Both times Lisa feared discovery, but once it was for the horses to be watered and the second time was when the drayman alighted to relieve himself in some wayside bushes. She decided to leave her transport at the first opportunity, for the sooner she severed the last connecting link with Leeds the safer she would be.

  When the wagon slowed almost to a standstill on an uphill pull, she slipped over the back of it to take cover at the side of the road. The drayman did not so much as turn his head and before long was out of sight. She began to walk.

  She spent the night in a derelict cottage. Fortune appeared to be favouring her, for she found a couple of matches that had probably dropped from a tramp’s matchbox and was able to light a fire on the hearth to keep her warm. Only thoughts of the children at the orphanage disturbed her rest.

  In a village the next day, a gentleman on horseback tossed her a penny for darting forward to open a gate for him. It enabled her to reple
nish her food supply at the local store with a piece of cheese and half a stale loaf. She no longer feared pursuit and kept at an easy pace as she continued on again. It seemed as if fate were walking with her.

  It was nearly dusk when she met a disordered flock of sheep streaming along the road. Waving her arms and darting to and fro, she helped the hefty, ruddy-faced youth in charge to get them back into the pen from which they had escaped. He thanked her, wiping his sweaty brow and neck with a rag from his pocket. It turned out he was the farmer’s son, and he took her with him to the farmhouse. There his mother gave her a hot meal to eat on the back doorstep. The food was good and she ate every morsel, but it was lonely to be shut outside while talk rumbled in the glow of the lamplight indoors.

  Yet how much more lonely Amy and Minnie and Cora and the rest she had befriended would be without her presence in the unfamiliar surroundings of a ship and then in a new land. Dejectedly she pressed her head back against the door jamb by which she sat, all too able to picture their misery. If she believed Miss Drayton to be a kind woman, maybe she would have felt less plagued by leaving them; unfortunately, although the woman had smiled in the beginning, her eyes had been hard. Like glass beads. Then, when annoyed, she had looked quite vicious. There would be no mercy there.

  After a while Lisa sighed resignedly to herself. Her conscience about the children was never going to let her get as far as London, so she might as well cut short her journeying now. She could not begin to consider the extent of the punishment that would have to be faced upon her return to the orphanage. Whatever it should prove to be, she would live through it somehow.

  Her tap on the farmhouse door to hand in the emptied plate went unacknowledged. She left it on the doorstep and went off into the darkness. When she saw the farmer’s barn looming against the first stars, she knew she had found a warm place for the night. Clambering into the hay, she flung herself down and was at sleep at once, fully at peace with herself now that her decision had been made.