As a final indignation, they had refused him any knowledge of his parents. So far as he’d ever know he’d been abandoned by them - the unloved testament to a carnal relationship whose sinister details would be forever sealed. To be sure his surname, Pulbrook, whether given or acquired, offered some distinction as a connection to the powerful English family of merchant traders who had founded a world-class spice trading company in India. But he could never know if this could be his father’s name or his mother’s.
On the first day of March 1909 young Daniel Pulbrook paused at the base of the portico steps to glance back one final time at the institution that had been his only home. No one had escorted him to the door. No one had shaken his hand or patted his back and certainly none had kissed him good-bye and wished him well. His prime adversary, Principal Clearage had simply thrust a release form into his hand, turned without a word and abruptly closed his office door. Fourteen years of dread and humiliation at St. Mildred’s had left him with the one abiding truth, that he was both unwanted and unloved. As he heard the steel gates creak shut behind him Danny believed with absolute certainty that he would live the rest of his life as an outcast.
It was established church policy that on leaving the orphanage for a release fee of seven pounds young girls would be promoted forward for training with a local shopkeeper or into one of the better households in the parish. The boys garnered a higher fee of twelve pounds but were nearly always directed to situations of physical labour in the local mills and factories, rail yards, teamster gangs or occasionally a livery barn. It was a cold reality that for the first eighteen months after release, these children were placed into indentured service and each employer expected to fully recover his investment. Their sole obligation was to feed and house these prospects. There was no requirement to either pay them or keep them one day longer than agreed. The only risk to the investor came from the incompetence of the child, in which case they were simply turned out into the street. It was a moment of divine intervention that in this one instance, Danny had drawn a most fortunate card. His work placement had been committed to the proprietor of Jameson’s Dry Goods Emporium.
David Jameson was both a deacon of the local Anglican parish and lead baritone in its choir. Renowned throughout the county as a dedicated Christian, he had provided a reprieve for Danny - a sliver of hope that he could indeed survive beyond the cloistered bastions of St. Mildred’s. Jameson had personally chosen to sponsor Danny, probably because no one else would dare touch him. He mentored his restless young colt, reining him in at the first sign of trouble and praising him at any simple success. Mrs. Jameson had at first feared Daniel. She found him a sullen and angry boy and thought he was a powder keg waiting to ignite. She insisted that her husband begin his training clearing out the attic of the old warehouse to avoid any potential run-ins with customers or other staff.
Over several months and with steady coaching Jameson gradually allowed Danny to partake in the heavier workload shared by the wily veterans on the loading dock. The boy proved a quick and eager study. He was strong for his size and he soon mastered the efficiency of operating the heavy cranes and dollies that were the backbone of the warehouse operations. Occasionally he was permitted to escort a customer to a private carriage with a number of purchases - an errand that almost always earned him a penny or two. To the chagrin of other younger men he was occasionally allowed to supervise a small gang of veterans by directing them through the loading and unloading of large bundles of fabrics, the least challenging of bulk materials. The crew all knew that these older teamsters required no supervision for such a task, but Mr. Jameson wanted to give young Danny a sense of responsibility. Jameson’s confidence steadily grew. He believed that with continued support and guidance Danny would soon find his way to establishing himself as a valued employee.
By comparison the other half of this rebellious duo, Philip Clark, was already established in the community. He had both a home and a parent and a good position with a reasonable future. His mother Elsie had already raised two other boys, Charlie and Frank, both of whom had found their way to a modest future and an appropriate working class status. Her constant prayer was that Philip would soon find his way to the same.
Widowed two years after Philip’s birth, Elsie fell back on the only survival skill she and was now barely scraping by. Six days a week she scrubbed and bleached the filthy laundry for most of the single working men in the village. Sundays she was free to promote her alternate spirit. She sang her heart out with great songs of hope and glory in the Salvation Army choir. This was an irony not lost on her son - she prayed for the salvation of the poor while she was on the cusp of financial disaster. At the close of the Sabbath she allowed herself a single personal indulgence, a long warm bath.
Young Phil was her only remaining burden and every Sunday she prayed on her knees at the local Mission that God would intervene and guide him to the same safe haven his brothers had found. Nearing seventeen, young Philip was not Charlie or Frank. He had set his sights a little too high for Elsie and she knew full well he would demand much more of her than either of the other boys. Her prayers for him were kept alive through one slim hope. She had begged a starting place for him from one of her regular clients, George Limey, who was and the foreman at Clark’s Livery Barn near the centre of town. Even with this welcome chance Philip remained defiant, he simply wanted more. Because he was the youngest she knew she had no strength left to carry the fight - she was too weary and too willing to turn a blind eye and then pray for intervention. The police had already dragged young Phil home twice, each time by a pair of reluctant Bobbies. They were regular customers of Elsie’s and had paid her the favour of subverting his arrest. Elsie Clark knew full well there would never be a third.
* * *
Lady Barbara
The two young housemaids were not the only inhabitants of Meaford House traveling to town on that glorious spring morning. Lady Knowles departed an hour later for a routine visit to her seamstress. Apparently the three new gowns she had purchased in Paris last month had arrived and the few delicate alterations were ready for her inspection. Normally she would have expected Mrs. Holladay to provide these fittings in the cloister of her private dressing room but today would be an exception. Her Ladyship had previously committed to attend al pre-competition meeting of her West Kent Garden Society and a stop along the way to the seamstress shop would be entirely convenient. Lady Barbara Knowles was, of course, president of the society and her attendance alone made the business of the meeting proper and official. She was also a five-time champion of several premiere rose competitions, an established champion in the annual All Kent Flower Show and twice had been runner-up at the All England Flower Show at Covent Garden. This past June however Barbara Knowles had been struck a morbid humiliation when she was obliged to accept the a preposterous second place finish, here, in her own county to an upstart Mrs. Audrey Tibbs, wife of a Presbyterian minister from the tiny village of Collington Square. The grievance of not winning had been a monstrous embarrassment for the entire household but to place second to an unknown Presbyterian had proven nearly impossible for everyone to comprehend.
This year’s competition was scheduled in just three weeks time and her ladyship remained entirely focused on her singular great ambition, to once again carry home the champion’s silver chalice and to replace it to its vacant sanctuary, next to the custom crafted Royal Dalton figurines on the second shelf of the large mahogany bookcase in the music room. Every early witness who had previewed her new entry, the “Barton-Knowles Pink” had proclaimed her to be the certain winner this year. She would easily surpass either another resolute creation from Mrs. Tibbs or an entry from the intrepid wife of General Sir Thomas Hughes, another contender with nearly as much influence as her own.
Her Ladyship was comfortable that she had finally remedied the fatal flaw from last year’s most forgettable entry, “a little too much Knowles and not enough Barton,” was the accepted diagnosis. This June she would be again fully restored to her rightful status, the “annus horriblus” purged forever and the honour of Meaford House rightfully restored. To