Front Line Nurse. Rosie James
will they go?’
The superintendent turned to take the baby in her arms again, rocking it to and fro comfortingly, and Randolph realised that the lady clearly loved children and must have looked after so many in her time. Unlike the other woman who had seemed cold and unfeeling.
‘Fortunately, we only have eight orphans with us at the moment,’ Miss Kingston said. ‘I have tried to cut back because of the impending closure, but normally there are fifteen children here. The ones remaining will be dispersed to other orphanages when we can find places for them. It can be anywhere in the country, of course,’ she added. ‘Not necessarily local.’
Randolph was feeling more unhappy with every moment that passed. Little children, little babies like Angelina, being passed around like parcels. He cleared his throat.
‘But why is the orphanage to close?’
‘Lack of funding, I’m afraid,’ the superintendent said. ‘Of course, we get a little parish relief but our principal benefactor died earlier this year, and sadly he left no provision for the orphanage in his will.’ She paused, smiling briefly. ‘He had been more than generous in his lifetime and I don’t think there was very much left in the end.’
Randolph looked away for a second. ‘And what will you do, Miss Kingston? Will you accompany any of the children who have been in your care?’
Miss Kingston shook her head sadly. ‘I think it is time for me to finish what has been my life’s work,’ she said, ‘though I had had every intention of remaining here for perhaps another ten years when I retire. But fate has taken a hand, so when the orphanage closes, that will be my own farewell, too.’
*
Randolph left the orphanage and walked on slowly. It was strange, but he had never given that place much thought at all – or rather, had never given those children much thought. They were safe and provided for, and much like the youngsters down by the docks, orphans were merely a fact of life. There had always been orphans and there would always be orphans. So why was he, Randolph Garfield, feeling uneasy?
Well, he knew the reason. That little child, that tiny baby, Angelina, had caused him to stop and do something to help her. Those beautiful eyes looking at him like that had secured a place in his conscience.
And in his heart …
The following evening, Jacob Mason came to Number 1 Richmond Villas to enjoy a bottle of good red wine with his friend. This was a ritual which had taken place every other week for years, and the wine was always accompanied by a light supper of cold meats and pickles and a loaf of bread baked and served by Randolph’s housekeeper.
But the main purpose of these occasions was to talk shop, to discuss current events and the state of the world in general. And then they’d exchange news of more personal matters. Tonight, Randolph did have something to recount.
As the two sat either side of a bright log fire in his study, Randolph spoke up. ‘On my way home yesterday evening, Jacob, I had a most uncomfortable experience.’
Jacob sat forward, immediately interested. ‘Go on.’
‘I found … I happened upon … well, I discovered a newborn baby which had been abandoned in a cardboard box. And it was a complete shock, I can assure you’’
Jacob nodded, but seemed unsurprised at the news. ‘What did you do about it?’
‘I took the box to the orphanage just up the road from where I found it – and on the side of the box were the words – “Angelina, born 1st November 1900 weight 6 lbs. 3oz”.’
‘Oh well, that’s all right then,’ Jacob said casually ‘It’ll be fed and clothed and looked after until it can get out into the world and fend for itself.’ He sat back, satisfied with his own summing up of the sad facts.
Not for the first time in his life, Randolph felt angry at his friend’s attitude. To hear Jacob refer to that innocent child as an ‘it’ was upsetting. He let a moment pass, then said, ‘I was very surprised to learn that the orphanage is to close in the New Year. Due to a lack of funding, apparently.’
‘Well, money is what makes the world go around, as we all know,’ Jacob said cheerfully. ‘Other orphanages will take those kids I suppose.’ He took a drink from his glass. ‘Trouble is, Randolph, they can never be anything, amount to anything, give anything back,’ Jacob went on. ‘Just imagine the parentage! The genetic influence! I believe that orphans are usually illegitimate – bastards, in other words. So, genetically speaking, their prospects are hopeless. Hopeless!’
‘I think that is a rather pessimistic view, Jacob,’ Randolph said coolly. ‘It’s obvious that not everyone has the same start in life, but those children are schooled in arithmetic, they are given books to read, and they are taught the bible—’
Jacob interrupted, smiling. ‘I can see that your recent experience has played on your mind and given you cause for thought, Randolph.’
Randolph nodded. ‘I learned that nuns from the priory teach the children and help to look after them,’ he said, ‘together with a small, subsidiary domestic staff.’
Jacob shrugged. ‘I’m telling you, none of them will ever amount to anything. They are the driftwood of life! My father was emphatic about never employing such people. because they’d always be a waste of time. And my father was never wrong about anything! All successful countries, all successful economies, depend on people of good stock, of good background, of intellect, and you and I are part of that, Randolph. We are doing our bit to keep the system going.’ He leaned forward and tapped Randolph on the knee. ‘And, in years to come, when our two youngsters tie the knot – oh, I know it won’t be for a very long time yet – but when they do, they will be continuing the process. And they will produce children of distinction! Useful citizens, Randolph!’
Randolph smiled briefly. Who knew what Alexander might want to do with his life, or who he’d share that life with? Jacob’s daughter, Honora, was still only an infant, but he and his wife Elizabeth, were determined that their little girl would one day be the next Mrs Garfield.
Randolph stared into his glass for a moment. He knew that Jacob was a great admirer of Frances Galton, the distinguished statistician and mathematician. Galton was of the opinion – among other things – that it was simple to place the populace in groups, from the lowest to the highest in terms of what they would be worth to the success of a country, and that the value of an ‘average’ person over a lifetime would be no more than five pounds. He also empathically believed that the lower classes should be discouraged from procreating.
‘I returned to the orphanage today and spoke at length to the superintendent,’ Randolph said, ‘and I learned that there are two trustees, one of whom is a priest – Laurence Dunn—’
‘Oh, I’ve met Father Laurence,’ Jacob interjected. ‘He’s been to my club once or twice.’
‘Anyway, I wanted to know if anyone had returned to claim little Angelina,’ Randolph said, and Jacob snorted derisively.
‘That’ll never happen!’ he said. ‘Orphans are the unwanted in life. Certainly unwanted by the loose, ignorant women who spawn them!’
The following Saturday afternoon, Randolph left the factory earlier than usual and made his way to the orphanage. He had been thinking long and hard about many things, and had come to a decision. He was not going to see the place close, its young inmates dispersed to heaven knew where. If it was at all possible, he would buy it – he’d already re-named it in his head. It would become the Garfield Home for Children.
His ring on the bell was answered almost at once by Mrs Marshall. She stood aside for Randolph to enter.
‘Is it possible for me to speak to Miss Kingston?’ he said briefly. ‘I will not keep