Front Line Nurse. Rosie James
any of them had ever seen the inside of a classroom, despite the Education Act three decades earlier having decreed that education should be compulsory.
Throughout the area, various sorts of trading seemed to go on … there were countless private beer and cider houses, and women offering rags and old pots and pans for sale. A prolific number of people were engaged in the dangerous process of match-making, while little ‘match girls’ stood on every corner hoping to sell for a few pennies, and very young children persistently offered themselves to anyone willing to pay for it. Once, Randolph had been approached by a small girl, no more than seven or eight years old, earnestly offering him a ‘good time’. He had been appalled and had brushed her away, but the incident had haunted him for a long time afterwards.
But there was no doubt that the economy was booming, all the workshops and factories along the docks were doing well – including that of his great friend, Jacob Mason, whose business was in steel, and the manufacture of nuts, bolts and allied merchandise. Randolph walked on with a lighter step. It was a wonderful feeling to be successful at what you did. He and Jacob spent many happy hours discussing current topics and airing their opinions about the government. The two men had attended many meetings together but Randolph admitted that he did not always agree with his friend. Jacob had very strong views, and was always convinced he was right.
Now, Randolph began to reach quieter streets where the air was slightly cleaner, and he would soon get to the point at which he would normally hail a carriage to take him home to the house in which he’d been born – an elegant, three-storey dwelling in leafy Belsize Park. It was perfectly situated, and sometimes Randolph would take the long walk from Primrose Hill to Parliament Hill where he could be alone with his thoughts. And Hampstead Heath and Regent’s Park were close by, lovely open spaces for children to run and play. Randolph himself had done so and Alexander, too, sometimes went there with his nanny.
Randolph’s eyes clouded briefly. He could give his son everything that money could buy but he could not give him back his mother who had died giving birth to their only baby. They had planned to have many more children but it was not to be. Sybil had been 30 years old when she’d eventually conceived, and the love of Randolph’s life. And although he was considered an attractive man, being tall and broad-shouldered with scarcely any grey hair, he knew he would never marry again. Alexander’s mother could never be replaced.
Trying to shake off the occasional bout of depression he suffered from, Randolph walked on more quickly. If he hurried, he might be in time to wish Alexander goodnight before the little boy fell asleep.
Suddenly, as he rounded one of the many corners of this lightly populated area Randolph’s progress was instantly halted, and he frowned. What had he almost tripped over just then? Something or other had been tucked to one side, but was certainly an obstruction to anyone walking by. He narrowed his eyes and crouched down, his expression changing to one of genuine horror as he realised what he was looking at.
He found himself gazing down into the small face of a very young baby whose large brown eyes were pooled in the purest white.
Still crouching, Randolph took a deep breath. This tiny infant had clearly been abandoned, in a cardboard box like rubbish. How could anyone do such a thing? Yet he could see that the baby was warmly wrapped in a huge, pale grey knitted shawl and soft white bonnet, and under the chin had been tucked a small pink teddy bear. Someone had loved this child …
Very carefully, Randolph picked up the box, and was surprised by its light weight. He held it to him protectively as he stood up and looked around. The street was quiet and deserted, with no sign of whoever may have left the child there, but luckily Randolph knew that no more than two hundred yards away there was the orphanage. It had been there for years, and he breathed a sigh of relief. They would take the child.
He walked very slowly towards the huge grey building, not wanting to disturb the baby, who had not made a single sound but was just lying there looking up at him. Randolph gritted his teeth. How could anyone leave this beautiful baby?
Randolph could not have been aware of the fragile young girl watching him from her hiding place, nor have heard the rustle of her thin skirt as she crept back into the shadows.
Reaching the orphanage, he rang the bell and waited, and after a few moments he heard approaching footsteps marching across a stone floor. Then, heavy bolts were moved aside and the door opened. A tall, angular woman stood there, unsmiling.
‘Yes? What is it? Then, on seeing a distinguished looking man there and not another vagrant begging for food, the woman moved to one side. ‘Oh … would you like to come in?’
Randolph accepted the invitation and carefully handed over the baby.
‘I found this a few moments ago,’ he said quietly, ‘down there at the far end of the road.’ He paused. ‘I am sure you will know what to do about it.’
The woman looked down at the box and tutted. ‘Oh not another little throw-out,’ she said abruptly. ‘It’s a pity these sluts of girls don’t think before they—’
‘Quite,’ Randolph said quickly.
Together they moved inside and the woman placed the box on a large oak table. And there in the pale lighting they could make out the neat printing on the side.
Angelina. Born 1st November 1900. Weight 6 lb. 3 ozs.
‘This little bastard’s only three weeks old, and tiny,’ the woman said. ‘It could have caught its death out there like that. Good job you came by when you did, sir.’
Just then, another woman approached and took in the familiar situation at a glance. ‘Oh dear,’ she said, her voice soft. She looked up at Randolph. ‘I am Emma Kingston, the superintendent here.’
She was a short, stout lady, her thick grey hair piled up into a knot, her face dominated by thoughtful blue eyes. Randolph smiled briefly.
‘I am sorry to disturb you, Miss Kingston,’ he said. ‘My name is Randolph Garfield and I found this child less than an hour ago. The box had been placed to one side of the pavement.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I am sure you will know how to deal with this … unfortunate matter.’
Emma Kingston glanced at the other woman. ‘Thank you, Mrs Marshall,’ she said, and with that, Mrs Marshall departed without a backward glance.
After she had gone, Miss Kingston studied the printing on the box, then picked up the baby and tenderly held it to her. She sighed. ‘I am afraid we do get children handed in here from time to time,’ she said, ‘but not usually this young, and not usually in a box.’
For the first time, the baby made a small pathetic gurgle – which made Randolph catch his breath. Why had this happened to him? And after such a long day!
After a moment, Miss Kingston said, somewhat apologetically, ‘Would you mind following me into my office for a few seconds, Mr Garfield? It is always useful to have something definitive to add to my records. Purely a formality,’ she added, ‘but you never know, someone may eventually come forward and claim Angelina … this little angel.’
Randolph followed the superintendent along the hallway and into the living quarters. There seemed to be a lot of doors, all closed, and despite this being an orphanage there was little sound. But of course, it was now getting very late.
In Miss Kingston’s office, Randolph took the chair he was offered and sat down. After putting the box with the baby in it down on a chair beside her, Miss Kingston took out a ledger and opened a fresh page. She looked across at Randolph.
‘I take it you are Mr Garfield of Garfield Tobacco?’ she enquired politely, and Randolph nodded.
‘Indeed I am,’ he said quietly.
‘So, Mr Garfield, would you tell me exactly when and where you found this baby’’ Miss Kingston said, and for the next two minutes Randolph told her the little there was to say.
Presently, Miss Kingston sat back, looking pensive. ‘It’s fortunate that we are still here,’ she said, ‘because