“I remember that one of the proprietresses, Mrs. Fairfax, insisted that all the children learn their letters. I have her to thank for the little formal education that I have received. It was not until I was an adult that I realized how grateful I should be for what she taught me. The ability to read and write is one skill that many poor orphans never learn.”
“You knew Mrs. Fairfax?”
“Yes,” Olivia said, surprised that the name would mean anything to Willa. “But she died years ago, from what I understand.”
“Her daughter, Miss Fairfax, is now in her mother’s place. She took it when she was still quite young herself.”
“Ah, how wonderful,” Olivia said, happy that someone there would have a connection to the place as she had once known it. “I remember now that she did have a daughter, about five years younger than myself, although I never met her. Are you and Miss Fairfax friends?”
Willa nodded. “Oh, yes. She is half the reason I have been any use to the orphanage at all. She has told me what is needed and allowed me to share my meager talents. I am always in awe of her. She knows exactly what the children need.”
“Miss Fairfax is one of Willa’s very best friends,” Augustus supplied. “We have had her to tea, have we not, Willa? Mother is quite fond of her.”
They had arrived at the orphanage, which with its brick façade, large green doors, and unmarked entrance, looked largely as it had when Olivia had lived there.
“This way,” Willa said, leading them down an alleyway and through a back entrance that Olivia also recalled, albeit dimly.
They entered through the kitchens. The frenzy of the staff as they prepared the midday meal was familiar to her. The vats of soup they stirred and hunks of brown bread they sliced had not seemed to change a bit.
But when they exited the kitchens and gained the dining room, Olivia was shocked to see how different it looked. She struggled to believe it was the same place.
It had been a grim place when she was a child. The long wooden tables and benches had been gray and gutted, the bare stone walls of the room oppressive. The thin windows, of which there were only a few, let in little light.
By comparison, the room she entered now shone. A large chandelier hanging from the ceiling illuminated the space. The tables were new and handsome. Instead of benches, there was now a little chair for each child. The room boasted beautiful tapestries, depicting scenes from Aesop’s Fables; the animals were depicted in vivid colors. She suspected they could be stared at for hours and not lose their fascination.
“How it has changed!” Olivia exclaimed.
“It is all due to Miss Fairfax,” Willa began, but the rest of her response was drowned out by a sudden noise—the clamor, Olivia realized, of many small feet. The doors on the far wall burst open and in flowed the children. While their outfits were still the same plain pinafores and trousers, the former of which she had worn herself, she did note that the children looked better fed than in her day. Their hair was glossier, their limbs plumper. They looked less neglected and more like little creatures who were having something akin to a childhood.
The children clambered happily into their seats and, at the same time, the opposite doors swung open. The staff from the kitchen entered, carrying the tureens of soup and trays of brown bread. Olivia watched as they served the children, portioning the soup into familiar little wooden bowls. However, she noted that, unlike when she had been here, they kept the tureens on the table, and the children who gulped down the hot soup quickly were able to reach for seconds. That was novel.
So absorbed was Olivia in watching the meal that she did not notice they had been approached by a young woman with dark, almost-black, hair and blue eyes.
“Miss Fairfax,” Augustus said to the woman, “Please let me introduce you to Miss Watson. She heard of my sister’s work here and wanted to visit immediately. She has been in France many years, but she grew up here in London—in fact, in this very place.”
Miss Fairfax gasped at this news and turned towards Olivia. Her freckled cheeks were animated with a high spirit that caused Olivia to smile instinctively.
“Welcome, Miss Watson. It is not often that we receive visits from those who grew up here.”
“No, I expect not,” Olivia said, “Although I must say that the place is more cheerful than I remember it. Even then, however, there were those who did the best for us orphans. I believe I knew your mother, Miss Fairfax. She was a godsend for me, back then. The kindness she showed me is a debt I could never repay.”
Miss Fairfax seemed unable to respond for a moment—and Olivia could have sworn she saw a sheen come over her eyes. But just as quickly, she blinked, and her cheerful smile was back.
“That would have meant the world to my mother to hear, Miss Watson, I am sure. She loved the children under her care very much. Her devotion inspired me to take up the same work. I couldn’t stand the idea of her legacy languishing.”
Olivia opened her mouth to respond but found herself interrupted by the pull of a small hand on her skirts.
“Annabelle!” exclaimed Miss Fairfax. “That is a very rude way to greet out visitor.”
“But who is she, Miss Fairfax?”
A crowd of curious children had now gathered around Olivia.
“I am Olivia Watson,” she said to the little girl, “I used to be a child here, just like you.”
“Lor! No!” said the little girl, “Not really!”
“But you look so fine now,” said an older girl, of eight or nine, “You couldn’t have been one of us.”
