Paid Servant Read Online Free Page A

“that little man would fit into any good family, I’m sure. You must stay and talk with him.”
    â€œI’d like to. Matron, what do you think about Roddy’s background? I was speaking with Miss Coney earlier today.”
    â€œI know Miss Coney,” she said tersely, “and I know her views. I also know Roddy. He was brought here when he was only ten weeks old. I’ve never seen either the mother or the father, but whoever they are they could have done a damned sight worse than produce such a boy.”
    Good Lord, the woman was literally bristling in her posture of defence. It occurred to me that if I needed it, I’d get every possible help from her. “Has he had any contact with coloured people at any time?” I asked.
    â€œNot much. One of our local Health Visitors is coloured, from Jamaica. She drops in occasionally to chat with me, and always looks into the nursery to say ‘Hello’ to the children. Roddy knows her. I suppose when the children are taken out to the park they may see coloured people, but I don’t think he knows any other one. Why?”
    â€œI’m just thinking of possibilities, Matron. I’m thinking of people I know, some of them coloured, who have at some time or other talked about adopting children. But if Roddy has never known coloured people that rather narrows the field.”
    â€œWhy?”
    I told her about my recent attempts to find foster-parents for coloured twins, two little girls, who had also spent all their lives in a Home. Although they were very dark-skinned, much darker than Roddy, they were terrified of a black face. It had taken me weeks of persuasive tactics before they had finally accepted me. When now and then I had tried introducing them to another coloured person, the result had been disastrous.
    â€œHow old were they?” There was deep concern in the Matron’s voice.
    â€œSeven years old.”
    â€œWhat happened? Are they still in the Home?”
    â€œNo. I found a white family for them, and they’ve settled in very nicely.”
    â€œGood. But sooner or later they’ve got to learn to live with their own skins. Maybe it’s not that they are afraid of black faces so much as they would like their own faces to be white, you know, to be like all the others they see around them. But I don’t suppose there would be that trouble with Roddy; he didn’t throw any tantrums at the sight of you. Let’s look in and see if he’ll talk with you now.” She walked ahead of me into the nursery.
    Roddy had deserted his tower of bricks and was squatting beside a chubby, flaxen-haired little girl who was seriously explaining something to him as she held up some doll’s clothing for his inspection. As Matron and I approached they both turned to look at us. I knelt beside them to make conversation easier.
    â€œHello,” I said.
    â€œAre you Roddy’s daddy?” the little girl asked.
    â€œNo, I’m Roddy’s visitor,” I replied.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” she insisted.
    â€œMy name’s Mr Braithwaite,” I replied. “What’s yours?”
    â€œI’m Natalie, and my visitor is my daddy.”
    I left it there. Two and two must always make four in their bright, unspoiled world. Roddy squatted there, coolly regarding me out of his large brown eyes. I’d have to take the initiative with him.
    â€œWhat were you building over there, Roddy?” I asked him.
    â€œHe’s making a tower and he wants my table to put on top of it,” Natalie interposed before Roddy could open his mouth.
    â€œIt’s not a table, it’s a brick,” he said firmly.
    â€œIt’s a table, and after Goldilocks and Sue are dressed they’re going to have tea.” She casually indicated two dolls lying patiently naked on the floor while she selected clothing for them from a box which served as a dolls’ wardrobe.
    â€œShe took