An Orphan’s Wish. Molly Green
‘But I’ve been in teaching all my working life and—’
‘So’ve I,’ Janice interrupted, ‘but they turned down my application.’ There was deep resentment in her tone.
Oh, not another thing for Janice to get worked up about.
‘I’m sorry,’ Lana said, meaning it.
‘Not your fault,’ Janice said, her brow furrowing. ‘I bet it’s because I’m soon to be a divorced woman bringing shame to the school. I suppose I’m lucky they didn’t get rid of me.’ Janice gulped down the rest of her tea and rose to her feet. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better get ready to face another day. Good luck, Lana. I’ll be interested to hear how you get on.’
Mrs Dayton looked up from her typewriter as Lana opened the office door and strode in.
‘Oh, it’s you.’
Lana fought down the bubble of anger at such rudeness. She pasted a professional smile on her face.
‘Good morning, Mrs Danvers.’ Lana hesitated for a theatrical moment, then said in a mortified voice, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I mean Mrs Dayton, of course.’
The woman threw her a look that was supposed to have turned her to stone, but Lana didn’t bat an eyelid. Instead, she continued in an extra pleasant voice: ‘I know you must be busy but I wonder if you can spare me half an hour to show me my office, and where things are generally – keys and such.’
Mrs Dayton gave her a pitying look.
‘Your office,’ she said, mockingly. ‘You will be sharing my office.’ She jerked her head towards the second desk, pushed tight into a corner.
‘Is that where the previous headmaster sat?’ Lana asked with an innocent expression.
‘Of course not,’ the woman snapped. ‘His office is through there.’ This time she jerked her head towards a closed door. ‘And he’ll be coming back once this war is over.’
‘But until that time it will be my office while I’m taking his place,’ Lana said firmly, with a smile she was far from feeling. Aware of the woman’s malevolent eyes on her, she marched over to the door and tried the handle. It was locked. She turned. ‘May I please have the key, Mrs Dayton?’
‘Mr Benton specifically asked me to keep it locked at all times.’
‘The key.’ Lana held out her hand, palm upwards.
Pursing her lips, Mrs Dayton opened a drawer and took her time looking for it. Finally, she handed it to Lana without a word.
‘Thank you.’ Lana looked towards the files on Mrs Dayton’s desk. ‘I think I’ll find my way round Mr Benton’s office and leave you to get on. Perhaps after lunch you’ll show me what you’re working on – explain exactly what your rôle is.’
‘I am his personal secretary,’ Mrs Dayton said, leaving a gap between every word.
‘That’s very good news,’ Lana said, smiling. ‘I’ll be depending upon you to do the same for me.’
One – nil to me, Lana thought, as she unlocked the door with a tremulous hand, thankful Mrs Dayton couldn’t see it. She mustn’t show any sign of weakness. She shut the door behind her and walked over to Mr Benton’s desk. He was a methodical man by the look of it; nothing on it except a telephone, an ashtray, a lined pad and a few pencils in a holder.
She spent the next hour checking the records for the number of children who attended: sixty-three in total, according to the cards in the index card drawer. She made a mental note to read through each one giving brief information on age, date of birth, subjects studied, et cetera before the week was out. Their school reports must be kept in a separate file, she thought, searching in another drawer. Yes, here they were. She removed half a dozen files and opened one. It was Priscilla’s, from her previous school, The Liverpool College for Girls, dated 10th January 1943.
Priscilla Morgan, b. 21st March 1931.
The Liverpool address had been crossed out and a new one inserted: Bingham Hall, Bingham, Liverpool.
Subjects: Arithmetic, English, Scripture, Geography, History, Art, Needlework.
Priscilla can speak a little German, taught to her by her aunt whose husband was German. Both subsequently lost their lives in the Liverpool Blitz in August 1940. Priscilla particularly enjoys literature and has played the lead twice in school plays with great aplomb.
Priscilla understandably has difficulty with her school work since her parents sadly were killed in January 1943. It is recommended that she attends Bingham school to sit the last year again, now that she will be living at Dr Barnardo’s orphanage, Bingham Hall.
Once she is able to come to terms with her bereavement, and with her determination, I am sure she will do very well in the future.
Freda Daunton (Miss)
Headmistress
Poor Priscilla. How humiliating for her. Lana skimmed the report again and grimaced when she read that Priscilla could speak some German. She hated the idea of British children learning that language. But it would be useful if Britain lost the war— She brought herself up sharply. How could she possibly think like that? Of course they were going to win. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate.
There was a knock at the door and Mrs Dayton walked straight in and handed her a sheet of paper.
‘You’ll be needing this,’ she said. ‘Your timetable for the term.’ With that, she spun on her heel and was about to leave when Lana stopped her.
‘Mrs Dayton? One moment, please.’
‘Yes.’ The woman still had her back to her.
‘It might be easier if you could face me.’
Mrs Dayton turned, a scowl on her heavy features.
‘In future, would you please knock and wait for me to tell you to enter,’ Lana said crisply, but her heart was beating hard. It was going to take all her grit to be a match for the woman and show her right away who was boss, however nervous she felt inside. She pulled herself up straighter in Mr Benton’s black leather swivel chair. Somehow sitting at his desk gave her a modicum of confidence, and she couldn’t help a wry smile as she looked directly in Mrs Dayton’s eyes. ‘You see, Mrs Dayton, it might not always be convenient for you to walk straight in.’
‘Very well.’
Lana was rewarded by a hard stare from cold dark eyes, but at least this time the woman marched out, slamming the door behind her.
Lana shrugged. No wonder the teachers called her Mrs Danvers. If there was any trouble she was sure it would come from her direction. Sighing, she glanced at the teachers’ timetable. Good. Her first class in English would be the first period after dinner – two o’clock.
She busied herself in the office, studying the curriculum and preparing for her English class. It seemed they were mostly ten- and eleven-year-olds, and as Mr Shepherd had warned her, Priscilla would also attend. They were reading Great Expectations. From what she now knew of the child, at least Priscilla would shine in that class.
Lana was at her desk in the class well before the children filed in at two o’clock. Mentally she counted them. Thirty-two. She smiled.
‘Good afternoon, children. I’m your new English teacher, Miss Ashwin.’
‘Good afternoon, Miss Ash-win,’ they chimed.
Lana noticed Priscilla was in her place at the side, mouthing the words.
‘You may be seated.’ There was a scrambling and scraping of chairs. Lana waited until they were still. ‘What I’d like you to do is to stand up, one at a time, and tell me your name and I’ll repeat