Paid Servant Read Online Free

of situation she placed us in. Probably thought the girl was pregnant, or something like that, and I was responsible. I took the bill, paid the cashier and left. There was no sign of her along the short walk to the station. That was fine; I had no wish to see her again.
    There was a number of people milling around excitedly at the entrance to the station, across which a temporary barrier of short iron standards and chains had been placed. Against one of the standards was a blackboard with a hastily chalked notice advising travellers to make their journey by bus as the station was temporarily out of service.
    The Children’s Home had once been the private residence of a very wealthy family, and in its conversion to its present use many of the lovely archways and curving staircases were preserved. The main building was three-storeyed, with several large rooms on each floor; these had been converted into play-rooms, dormitories, sickrooms, dining-rooms, rest-rooms, etc., with bedrooms for the resident staff. A well-furnished, self-contained small flat on the ground floor was reserved for the matron of the establishment.
    She had seen me coming and was waiting for me at the top of the short flight of stone stairs to the rather showily impressive main door. A tall, well-made woman, with a florid, handsome, smiling face; her white hair was cut short around her head and shone with a silvery sparkle; her eyes were pale blue behind rimless spectacles. There was something positive, strong and secure about her, as of a woman who loved her work and those around her.
    â€œMr Braithwaite, eh?”
    â€œGood afternoon, Matron.”
    â€œSorry we’re so far away off the beaten track.” Her strong voice betrayed traces of her Scots origin. She led me to her office. “Well now, let’s see. You’ve come about Roddy Williams. I told him he was having a visitor. He’s in the play-room now. You can leave your things here.”
    I liked this. No waiting around.
    He was kneeling on the floor of the play-room before an intricately arranged tower of wooden blocks. In his right hand was another block, poised, waiting; on his face was that look of rapt concentration which few persons manage to achieve after childhood. He was sturdy and well-made, his skin a dark bronze, rich and attractive; his hair was short, of a darker brown and wavy. Handsome in every line of him, strong and handsome. A slim sensitive nose, full lips and a square, dimpled chin; dark brown eyes fringed with long lashes.
    I looked at the Matron and surprised a look of such tenderness on her face. “Wonderful, isn’t he?” she whispered.
    Several other tots were playing their several games around the room, mainly individually, learning in this way to think, to plan, to give their attention to the task in hand. There was no attendant in the room with them. They were already learning to live together peacefully. Some of them noticed our entry but did not interrupt their games. I walked over to Rodwell. He looked up, smiled, and went on with his close study of his structure, planning the placing of the next block.
    â€œHello,” I said.
    â€œHello,” he replied.
    I retreated, understanding about him. Matron and I left them to their games.
    â€œWell, what do you think of him?” she asked.
    â€œGrand little fellow,” I said.
    â€œThink you’ll be able to place him?”
    â€œI hope so. Anyway I’ll have a jolly good try.”
    â€œColoured family?”
    I watched her closely, tense inside. Jesus, I was getting so damned touchy as soon as anybody said ‘coloured’! But it was this thing I’d been meeting right and left, this unspoken presupposition that the word ‘coloured’ suggested something inferior or second best.
    â€œNot necessarily,” I replied. “I would just like to find a nice family in which he can be secure and happy.”
    â€œGood for you,” she said,