What the Heart Keeps Page 8

  “There will be other sales to bring me here on business and I’ll get a vacation sooner or later. In the meantime, we can write to each other.” He whipped out a notebook from his pocket and took down her address as she gave it to him. Then he wrote down his own before tearing out the page to hand it to her. “Now we shall never lose touch again.”

  She took the page and folded it away carefully into her purse. Letters were rare events in her life, although during the past few months she had received two of special significance, one from the town of Lauder in Manitoba and the other from Raymond, Alberta, a place that had been recently settled on the prairies. She had looked them up on a map.

  On the strength of the contents of the letters, she had written to Mrs. Bradlaw at the old orphanage in Leeds, unable to think of anyone else to whom she could communicate on the matter. No reply had been forthcoming.

  She realised she had counted too much on that brief spell of mutual respect between them. Her, letter had most surely ended up in a wastepaper-basket. But in Peter Hagen she had someone at last to listen to her. Already he had shown compassionate understanding when she had explained why she did not feel able to leave the Distribution Home.

  “Would you be surprised,” she questioned keenly, “if I told you that Miss Drayton supplies brides to western Canada?”

  He gave her a long look. “My brother has mentioned a sad shortage of women in some areas where he has been working. It would be the same on this side of the border. If the girls are willing I see no harm in such an arrangement.”

  “I agree with you there. While I was at the orphanage I heard about a society taking brides to Australia, but they were properly chaperoned and looked after until married to the man of their choice.”

  “Then where is the problem? The law these days prevents any female from being forced into a marriage.”

  “But officially Miss Drayton sends the girls as servants. The men out West pay her a thousand dollars each in advance as a domestic agency fee. It seems that Mrs. Grant, who is Miss Drayton’s representative, delivers the girls haphazardly to whoever happens to meet the train as it crosses the prairies, or takes them direct to a given address where supposedly employment is awaiting them. If the man is refused when he proposes marriage, he is the loser on two counts, whereas Miss Drayton is always the winner, with his money safely in her grasp. The inspectors are always entirely satisfied with the records whenever they call and so on the surface at least there is nothing illegal to be pin-pointed.”

  “It still sounds entirely crooked to me.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad you share my opinion. Apart from any more serious aspect, it is entirely unethical as well. You see, funds raised in Great Britain for the Herbert Drayton Memorial Society should be divided equally between finding homes for orphans and securing good employment in a family environment for older girls. That is the published aim. All too often the older ones outnumber the younger children, except when there is a spate of infants, and even babes in arms, which is a sign to me that Miss Drayton is covering her tracks for a while.”

  “When did you first suspect this state of affairs?”

  “I began to notice that although Toronto people came to the centre with a willingness to take an immigrant servant, which is what we had all been led to expect, there were never any girls available. They were all going to the West.”

  “Do you have any proof of what you believe to be happening?”

  “Out of all the girls only two have ever written to me. One appreciated my forewarning her of what might lie ahead, and she had found out about the fee-paying. The second girl, named Alice, found herself alone on a prairie homestead with a brutal man who already had a wife somewhere. When the travelling threshers came for the harvest, she ran away with a thresher-man. He deserted her in a small town somewhere. She was near her time with the homesteader’s child and without a cent. She was begging in the streets when a covered wagon came through. A Mormon widow was on her way to make a new home in Raymond in the same province. The kind woman befriended her, tended her at the birth, and drove mother and baby with her to the new settlement. Alice has since married a Mormon herself and wanted me to know she has found happiness with a good man.” Lisa paused thoughtfully. “Although she was lucky in the end, it is impossible to measure the misery and hardship that many of the other girls have surely had to endure.”

  He spoke bluntly. “Has it occurred to you that some might have ended up in sporting houses?”

  She had not heard the expression before, but she understood its meaning. “Yes,” she replied with equal frankness. “The tragedy on that score is that remarkably few of those whom Miss Drayton brings are of a wayward nature. Although occasionally there is a rough group, they are on the whole quite ordinary girls, as nervous and upset by the strangeness of everything as the young children that come to the centre.”

  “Do you still have the letters?

  “Not anymore. They were stolen from my drawer.”

  “By whom?”

  “This is difficult to say. I fear there is pilfering by some girls and I lost a scarf and a blouse at the same time.”

  He frowned. “That’s a great pity. I realise that without any proof it would be virtually impossible to instigate an official investigation. Let us hope you hear from another of the girls soon.”

  “I’ll make sure I don’t have the letter stolen from me, too.” She took a glance at a clock at that point and said she had to leave.

  He walked with her to the gates of the garden where she took her package of stationery from him. With all arrangements made to meet later that evening, she turned away down the street. She had covered no more than a few paces when he called after her. “Lisa!”

  She turned round and stood with the package weighing down her arms, her expression inquiring. “Yes, Peter?”

  His expression was intense and serious, almost threatening in the force of feeling that reached out to her. “Thank God you have never been sent away!”

  Her lips parted on a sharp intake of breath. She was excited and frightened as much by the vehemence of his words as by her own reaction to them. It was as if her heart flew to him while physically she was possessed by panic. She stammered an answer. “I never will. Not now. Nobody can make me. It would only be by my own free will.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on.”

  He was saying too much and saying it too soon. She had never known that exultation and fear could go hand in hand. His eyes continued to hold hers as she took a step backwards and then another in the direction she was to go. Then abruptly she broke the visual contact between them, whirling about to continue on her way.

  At the house she was met by Miss Lapthorne in a tantrum at her lateness. “Where have you been, Lisa? Why weren’t you back long ago?” Her tone became self-pitying. “I have been waiting for you to make me a cup of tea.”

  It brought home to Lisa as never before how Miss Lapthorne had come to depend on her for every little thing. Although originally her chores had been that of housemaid and cleaning servant, it had changed gradually to make her housekeeper as well. It was she who decided the grocery lists, dealt with the gardener, sorted the laundry, ordered fuel for the furnace, and saw to the rest of the household chores. Although a temporary cook came in when the house was full, since Lisa then needed all the time available to look after the new arrivals, she did the cooking for Miss Lapthorne and herself at all other times. She replied to the woman’s question with one of her own, being in no mood for explanations.

  “Did you want any of this stationery in your own room or is it all for Miss Drayton’s shelves?”

  “Put it in the study for now. It can be sorted another time.”

  Lisa waited while Miss Lapthorne took a bunch of keys from her pocket to unlock the study door. Lisa put the heavy package down on the desk and left it there. As the woman locked up again, Lisa went to make the tea. Putting on the kettle, she thought about the evening ahead. Although Canadian
households were probably more lenient, Miss Drayton’s rules were the same as those governing English abodes. Servant girls were not allowed “followers,” as any prospective suitors were called. Miss Lapthorne, having discovered that Lisa showed not the slightest inclination to be “followed” had become quite lenient in Miss Drayton’s absences, allowing her to attend minor social events at the church hall. There was one this evening that would cover her absence without any explanation needed. She could leave and come home again as she pleased without question. It also meant she could curtail her time with Peter whenever she wished, for if he became amorous, attempting to embrace or fondle her, she feared she would lash out at him instinctively as she had with anyone else who had mistakenly thought to take liberties. The irony of it was that inwardly she would be yearning for what she was rejecting. The past was inexorably blighting and warping her chance of a true relationship with the one man she admired more than any other.

  He was waiting for her as arranged. They met with smiles, each happy to be together again.

  “I’m glad you’re on time,” he told her. “If you had been late I would have started to fear you were being prevented from leaving the house.”

  “I might have been if Miss Drayton had suddenly turned up. But fortunately that didn’t happen.”

  “Do you always know when to expect her?” he asked as they began to walk along together.

  “Sometimes she doesn’t bother to write to Miss Lapthorne and simply sends a wire when she lands at Halifax. On occasions we receive no advance notice at all. She believes we should always be ready for new arrivals at any time, a policy contrived to keep us on our toes. It certainly keeps Miss Lapthorne in a constant state of tension when it’s about time for Miss Drayton to come again. She’s like that now, as a matter of fact.”

  Lisa was aware of being a trifle more tense herself at that moment, although for an entirely different reason and only towards him. She was nervous in his presence as she had not been that afternoon. He did not appear to notice, but when he would have linked his fingers with hers to walk hand in hand, she withdrew hers on the pretext of adjusting the chain of her purse on her other wrist. Then she was conscious that he glanced askance at her. He did not make a second attempt, although he did support her by the elbow when they boarded a streetcar to go down to the lakeside.

  He took her to dine in a restaurant overlooking the bay. For her it was the most exciting occasion, for she had never eaten in a place of any style before. Her eyes sparkled and her natural enjoyment of everything was a delightful spectacle for him. Afterwards they strolled along the planked boardwalk, and when he suggested taking a row-boat out on the bay she felt quite overwhelmed that so much could happen all in one evening.

  “This is fun!” she exclaimed as he pulled strongly at the oars, drawing her out across the water that was lapping reflected lights. “The last time—indeed the only time I was ever in a boat of any kind—was on the S.S. Victoria. What a dreadful voyage that was!”

  “Describe it to me,” he said, wanting to know everything that had ever happened to her while not wishing to spoil her light hearted mood. “In fact, I’ll challenge you! My trip was much worse than yours.”

  She entered the game, laughing. “It couldn’t have been. We had poor bedding, cramped conditions, and little ventilation.”

  “We were two hundred and eighty men packed like sardines in the bow.”

  “We were below the water-line.”

  “So were we—except in rough seas when the bow rose and fell like a swing, making most people seasick.”

  “There were rats! They ate the caramels you gave me.” Her fingertips flew to her lips as if she would have held back what she had said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that. You spent hard-earned money to buy them.”

  He was entertained by her discomfiture, which he found appealing. “The rats wouldn’t have eaten the food dished out to us from the galley. It was so foul that it caused a riot. Men threw it back at the cooks, broke up tables, smashed lamps and finally stormed the galley to grab what they could for themselves.”

  She was aghast. “You win. Is it really true?”

  “Every word. But that’s nothing compared with some tales I’ve heard of conditions aboard emigrant ships. You and I can think ourselves lucky that we fared as well as we did.”

  It was refreshingly cool on the lake away from the heat of the city. Lisa trailed her hand in the water now and again. Sometimes he rested on the oars as they talked, sharing thoughts, giving opinions and indulging in friendly arguments. It seemed impossible to her that the time they had spent in each other’s company would still add up to less than twenty-four hours. It was as if they had known each other forever.

  When they came ashore again and he had surrendered the hired row-boat, they returned at a leisurely pace to the corner of Sherbourne Street. There they faced each other in the glow of a street lamp.

  “Can you meet me tomorrow evening at the same time?” he asked her.

  She nodded. It had been a blissful evening. Not once had he attempted any kind of advance that would have made her shy, away. He must have taken more notice of how she had withdrawn her hand than she had realised. She was grateful for it.

  “I’ll be here,” she promised. “Good night, Peter.”

  “Good night, Lisa.”

  She reached the house and went up the porch steps. The door was always left unlocked for her when she was out, since Miss Lapthorne liked to retire early. She went indoors quickly and fastened the bolt behind her.

  It was all she could do not to run to him the following evening. She thought she greeted him with restraint but her face was radiant and her eyes ashine, leaving him in no doubt that nothing would have stopped her from meeting him. Had he not been extremely busy all day the time until seeing her would have dragged tediously.

  “How did the sale go?” she inquired eagerly as they fell into step. He made no attempt to take her hand.

  “Very well. I bought sixteen good horses.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “I’ve moved them to stables near the railway station. Now I’ll tell you something that I hope you’ll be glad to hear. Instead of shipping them out early tomorrow morning, I have booked their transportation on a late evening train. That means we have an extra day.” He could see for himself that she was overjoyed. “How shall we spend it? Where would you like to go?”

  “Let’s take a picnic to the island on the lake!” she exclaimed. It was something she had always wanted to do.

  “Then leave everything to me. I’ll get a store to pack a basket for us.” He pulled two theatre tickets from his pocket. “As for this evening. I’ve booked two seats for The Pirates of Penzance.”

  She halted with such abruptness that he took another pace or two before turning on his heel in some surprise. Her hands were clasped together in her exuberance and he thought he would never get used to her enchanting response to any small treat that came her way.

  “I’ve never been to a show, Peter,” she exclaimed.

  He smiled, jerking his head in the theatre’s direction. “Come along then. You don’t want to be late, do you?”

  “No!” She broke into a run, giving him a mischievous glance as she shot past him and he had to race after her to catch her up.

  In the foyer he bought her a box of chocolates trimmed with a blue satin ribbon and presented it to her when they had taken their seats. “These should make up for the caramels you lost,” he teased.

  She opened the box with such care that it was easy to tell it was the first she had ever received. Yet she would not make a selection for herself until he had made a choice. Then she bit into one and closed her eyes at its delicious taste. He watched her profile and found her extraordinarily beautiful. Her chin was tilted a little higher as she savoured the chocolate; her throat was white and graceful; and her lashes lay long and curling. He was gratified to be making many things happen for the first time for her. And because
he was lusty and virile, capable of enormous passion, it was inevitable that his private thoughts about her became more sensual.

  As the orchestra burst forth into the rousing overture, the corner of the chocolate box struck in his chest. “Have another chocolate before the curtain goes up,” she whispered excitedly, popping one into his mouth. She took one more herself, put the lid carefully on the box on her lap, and turned her attention towards the rising curtain.

  She was enraptured by every moment of the performance, applauding enthusiastically and consulting her programme for every detail. Afterwards when he walked her homewards she enthused over the highlights of the production. At the corner of Sherbourne Street in the lamplight they drew to a halt. “It’s been an evening I’ll always remember, Peter.”

  “We still have tomorrow to spend together.”

  She nodded happily. “I think I had better meet you on the steps of the library. I’m allowed to spend hours there amongst the books. Miss Lapthorne would never let me out for a whole day if she thought I was anywhere else.”

  It was agreed that they should meet at ten-thirty. She bade him good night and hurried away. She was about to turn the door handle when he came after her up into the shadowed porch.

  “You forgot the rest of your chocolates, Lisa.” He had carried the box from the theatre and held it out towards her.

  “So I did.” She took the box with both hands and held it upright against her chest. Like a shield. Her breathing quickened, as did her pulse. He came closer, looming dark against the street lamps, his intention clear. Her own forgetfulness had given him the opportunity to seek her lips where they could not be observed. In her head she heard the rustle of hay and the snap of a lantern being shut. She became rigid, possessed by a paralysing terror that she tried in vain to fight against, a violent shaking taking possession of her. If he touched her in her present state she would scream. Scream and never stop. She heard him gasp in dismay at her fear-distorted expression.

  “Lisa!” His voice was thick with shock and outrage. “Don’t look at me like that! What sort of man do you think I am? Surely you know that I of all people would never want to displease you. I love you!” He spread his hands out palm uppermost in a vigorous gesture of supplication. “Do you hear? I’ve fallen in love with you!”