An Orphan’s Wish. Molly Green
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to one side and a crenellated front, reminding her of a castle. She had to admit it was an imposing house – well, more of a mansion – probably built in early Victorian times, the same as the village school.
What would it be like to work there? Grim, she supposed. All those children, some of whose parents had probably been killed in the war, thrown together with no blood ties, maybe losing brothers and sisters as well. Lana was suddenly grateful to teach at a normal school. An orphanage could never represent ‘home’ to her.
She could hear an accordion playing and smiled. The children were obviously not letting the dreary rain put a dampener on their day. Screams of laughter became louder as she got nearer.
Another sound. The purr of an expensive-sounding engine behind her. She pressed her back into one of the lime trees to give room to a large black motorcar. It was moving slowly, crackling the gravel. Out of habit, as it drew parallel, she glanced inside. She was vaguely aware of two men in the back seat, but it was the blond-haired man in the front passenger seat, masking the driver, that caught her gaze. He was only a few feet away and she couldn’t help looking at him. His eyes were fixed firmly ahead, his profile rigid. But she was struck by the power of his features: the well-shaped nose, the firm set of his jaw, and what she could see of his solemn mouth.
As though he felt her eyes upon him he turned to his left, and for long seconds he looked directly at her. Through her. His eyes were deep-set and she thought they were blue but she couldn’t be sure. A quiver ran along her spine. It was as though there was no rain-spotted window forming a barrier between them. He was more handsome than any man had a right to be. Telling herself not to be so silly, but more than a little embarrassed, she swung her gaze from his and fixed her eyes on the rear of the car. Yes, she was right. It was a Rolls. Her brothers hadn’t wasted their time teaching her to recognise all the makes and models for nothing. Oh, what she would give to be behind its wheel. But what was a top-class motorcar like that doing at an orphanage?
She shrugged. It was none of her business. She saw the two men emerge from the back of the Rolls-Royce and walk towards the entrance of the house, leaving the driver and his front passenger in the car.
Who were these men arriving in such a grand car? More specifically, who was the blond man? He must be someone important to have his own driver. Maybe he was a local dignitary, yet he didn’t look like a local man. Ah, perhaps he was a Dr Barnardo’s inspector, though surely either position wouldn’t warrant a driver and a Rolls.
Two young women appeared at the front door of the orphanage, the taller woman wearing a smart navy dress. Lana wondered if she might be Maxine Taylor. One of the men said something and the taller woman answered but Lana was too far away to hear the words. The man loped off and in the space of two minutes returned with the front passenger.
The blond man was exceptionally tall, even by her standards, and unusually he was hatless. The sun, out for the first time that day, glinted on his hair. He looked like someone in command with his confident stride. He glanced once towards the children dancing round the maypole. The accompanying man almost had to run to keep up. It would have been amusing at any other time, but there was something unnerving in the scene unfolding in front of her. After several moments the two women and three men disappeared into the house.
Lana strolled over to where the children were playing, trying to shake off the image of the man who looked different from anyone around here, thinking she might ask where Priscilla was. She watched the children for a few minutes. They certainly looked well cared for, but their expressions wore a kind of resilience – she couldn’t quite explain it, but it was as though they’d had to face more than most children, which of course was true. Maybe she was being fanciful, but she didn’t think so.
Two of the boys were watching her with open curiosity.
‘Are you a new teacher, Miss?’ one of them piped up. He looked to be about nine or ten with ginger hair.
Lana smiled. ‘I’m the new headmistress at the village school. I’ve come to meet some of you and Matron.’
‘She’s gone inside,’ the other boy said. ‘Some men came in that motor.’ He pointed. ‘It’s a Rolls-Royce,’ he added, the awe in his voice unmistakable. ‘Isn’t it smashing?’
‘Yes, it certainly is a beauty,’ Lana said with feeling. One day she’d have her own car, though maybe not a Rolls to start with, she thought, smiling to herself.
‘I’m having one of them when I’m grown up,’ the ginger-haired boy said, a determined expression fixed on his freckled face.
‘I’m sure you will if you want it badly enough.’
He nodded.
‘Have you seen Priscilla?’
‘No. She’s too toffee-nosed to play with us.’
‘I’m sure she doesn’t mean to be,’ Lana said, surprised. ‘I think she’s shy.’
The boy grunted. ‘She was helping Cook last time I saw her.’ He and his friend shot her another look, then dashed off.
So long as Priscilla was well cared for, Lana thought, though it was a pity she hadn’t mixed with the others.
It was only a tentative arrangement to see Maxine Taylor at four o’clock, but already it was coming up to that time. The matron would be busy at the moment. She’d have to wait until the meeting, or whatever it was, was over and until then she’d wander round the gardens. No one seemed to be taking any notice as she walked over to the vegetable garden where the gardener had erected wigwams of beanpoles ready for planting runner beans. A boy, bent nearly in two, struggled with a tough-looking weed. A little brown dog watched the boy’s every move. The dog cocked his ear, then ran towards her, giving little whines of delight, his tail wagging excitedly. The boy stood up.
‘Freddie! Here, boy! Come here!’
Freddie stopped in his tracks and looked round, uncertain as to what he should do – welcome the newcomer or obey his master?
‘He’s all right,’ Lana called, swiftly closing the gap between them. ‘Good boy.’ She patted the dog’s silky head.
‘I have to keep watch on him,’ the boy said importantly. ‘He’s only allowed here if he behaves. He used to live here but he only comes to visit now.’
‘He’s just like most dogs when someone new comes along. He wants to be friends.’
The boy looked at her directly with very blue eyes. Lana took in a quick breath. There was something about him. As though she’d seen him before. But that was ridiculous. She didn’t know any of these children.
‘Well, I know Freddie’s name now, but I don’t know yours.’
The boy hesitated, and Lana had the feeling he didn’t want to answer. But finally he said, ‘Peter – Peter Best.’
‘That’s a good manly name.’ Lana smiled again, but the boy didn’t smile back.
He looked much too serious for a child who couldn’t be more than nine or ten years old. Dear oh dear, these children must all have the most awful stories to tell – the way they lost their parents. The very idea made her feel sick at heart.
‘I’ll leave you to the weeding,’ she said. ‘I do hope I’ll see you and Freddie again.’
Peter nodded but his expression was one of indifference.
Lana decided it would be better if she saw the matron at a quieter moment. But when she noticed a group of small girls playing ring-a-ring-o’roses on the lawn, and a dark-haired woman who she guessed was a teacher keeping an eye on them, she thought she’d wander over and say hello.
The woman turned her head at Lana’s approach.
‘Hello. I’m Lana Ashwin, the new headmistress at the village school.’ Lana extended her hand.
‘Dolores Honeywell. I’m fairly new here, too, and pleased to meet you.’ She smiled at Lana.