studied me as intently as she could through the barely opened door.
'She's not here ...'
And I was listening, appalled, to a repeat though less well-educated recital of my interview at the Lochandor orphanage.
I interrupted the excuses. 'Meg is the daughter of Detective Inspector Macmerry of the Edinburgh City Police.'
This jolted her. The eye temporarily withdrew, perhaps in a state of shock, as I continued. 'I am here on the inspector's behalf to see her and deliver an account of her welfare.'
The eye returned, a rattle of chains and the door opened a fraction more this time. 'We take children from the orphanage until other arrangements are found for them. The child you mention, Meg Macmerry, has been taken by a family who want to adopt her.'
'When did all this happen?'
'Soon after she arrived, the day before yesterday.'
Trying to sound calm I said, 'Their address, if you please.'
The door opened wider. The woman disappeared and children of assorted ages, mostly girls, came into view, peering at me wide-eyed, hopeful. Their pleading expressions wrung my heart - these were not reminiscent of children, but rather of stray dogs and cats abandoned and betrayed by their owners.
At least, I saw with relief, they looked well cared for, dressed alike, in plain grey dresses, like institutional uniforms. They didn't look cold or hungry but they were well past babyhood - the youngest must have been five or six years old.
The woman reappeared, pushed them aside with a warning growl and handed me a piece of paper, the address this time in Joppa on the far side of Arthur's Seat, familiar territory and thankfully not far distant from my home.
Now that I had a good look at the middle-aged Mrs Bourne, she was well dressed too and seemed no longer hostile or suspicious.
'You were misdirected to this house.' And choosing her words carefully, 'We merely provide a stepping-off place for unwanted children, orphans mostly, to be found suitable homes, where they will in time be trained to become useful members of a household.'
A kindly way of saying that the children I was seeing were being trained to be domestic servants, their entire young lives spent as cheap unpaid child labour in the kitchens of Edinburgh's better-off houses. All they would ever get were cast-off clothes and leftover food, their futures decided for them, bleak indeed. No education, rarely even taught to read or write.
A few might be lucky enough or strong enough to escape, but, for the majority, a life of toil and deprivation lay ahead.
The woman was saying, 'The child Meg was too young, you see - three years old, they can't do much at that age. They're just a burden. And I have more than enough to take care of at the moment, without another mouth to feed.'
There was something else I needed to know before I walked down the stairs and escaped into the fresh air again. 'Am I to presume that you received a fee for Meg Macmerry's care at the orphanage--?'
She glowered at me and interrupted. 'Aye, a fee mostly passed down the line to them at Joppa - for their trouble.'
'Trouble' was not the word I would have used to describe adoption, a business of delight and joy for a childless couple yearning for a baby.
I left with the expressions in those children's eyes following, haunting me, as well as the feeling that I had not been told the whole unpalatable truth. But at least Joppa gave me hope, as a respectable suburb easily accessible on my bicycle. And in the right direction to include Duddingston, where I was eager to discover from Amy Dodd the latest developments next door, in which the police and Chief Inspector Gray were showing so much interest.
With considerable effort I summoned up my other role, that of lady investigator. I regarded the contents of the package which had been entrusted to me, and hopefully the clue it contained which would lead to the bogus Hinton who must have been an intimate of the murdered woman. How otherwise could she have known
'She's not here ...'
And I was listening, appalled, to a repeat though less well-educated recital of my interview at the Lochandor orphanage.
I interrupted the excuses. 'Meg is the daughter of Detective Inspector Macmerry of the Edinburgh City Police.'
This jolted her. The eye temporarily withdrew, perhaps in a state of shock, as I continued. 'I am here on the inspector's behalf to see her and deliver an account of her welfare.'
The eye returned, a rattle of chains and the door opened a fraction more this time. 'We take children from the orphanage until other arrangements are found for them. The child you mention, Meg Macmerry, has been taken by a family who want to adopt her.'
'When did all this happen?'
'Soon after she arrived, the day before yesterday.'
Trying to sound calm I said, 'Their address, if you please.'
The door opened wider. The woman disappeared and children of assorted ages, mostly girls, came into view, peering at me wide-eyed, hopeful. Their pleading expressions wrung my heart - these were not reminiscent of children, but rather of stray dogs and cats abandoned and betrayed by their owners.
At least, I saw with relief, they looked well cared for, dressed alike, in plain grey dresses, like institutional uniforms. They didn't look cold or hungry but they were well past babyhood - the youngest must have been five or six years old.
The woman reappeared, pushed them aside with a warning growl and handed me a piece of paper, the address this time in Joppa on the far side of Arthur's Seat, familiar territory and thankfully not far distant from my home.
Now that I had a good look at the middle-aged Mrs Bourne, she was well dressed too and seemed no longer hostile or suspicious.
'You were misdirected to this house.' And choosing her words carefully, 'We merely provide a stepping-off place for unwanted children, orphans mostly, to be found suitable homes, where they will in time be trained to become useful members of a household.'
A kindly way of saying that the children I was seeing were being trained to be domestic servants, their entire young lives spent as cheap unpaid child labour in the kitchens of Edinburgh's better-off houses. All they would ever get were cast-off clothes and leftover food, their futures decided for them, bleak indeed. No education, rarely even taught to read or write.
A few might be lucky enough or strong enough to escape, but, for the majority, a life of toil and deprivation lay ahead.
The woman was saying, 'The child Meg was too young, you see - three years old, they can't do much at that age. They're just a burden. And I have more than enough to take care of at the moment, without another mouth to feed.'
There was something else I needed to know before I walked down the stairs and escaped into the fresh air again. 'Am I to presume that you received a fee for Meg Macmerry's care at the orphanage--?'
She glowered at me and interrupted. 'Aye, a fee mostly passed down the line to them at Joppa - for their trouble.'
'Trouble' was not the word I would have used to describe adoption, a business of delight and joy for a childless couple yearning for a baby.
I left with the expressions in those children's eyes following, haunting me, as well as the feeling that I had not been told the whole unpalatable truth. But at least Joppa gave me hope, as a respectable suburb easily accessible on my bicycle. And in the right direction to include Duddingston, where I was eager to discover from Amy Dodd the latest developments next door, in which the police and Chief Inspector Gray were showing so much interest.
With considerable effort I summoned up my other role, that of lady investigator. I regarded the contents of the package which had been entrusted to me, and hopefully the clue it contained which would lead to the bogus Hinton who must have been an intimate of the murdered woman. How otherwise could she have known
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