who had served in their reigns. From the ceiling hung heavy gilded chandeliers.
Now the table was covered with papers, a group of people sat along three sides with the Chairman’s higher-backed chair in the centre; he had a woman magistrate on either side, the one on
the left was Miss Brooke. Mr Blount as the Children’s Officer was there, and Doctor Harwell; so, also, to their annoyance, was Mrs Cuthbert. ‘Of course I should be there,’ Mrs
Cuthbert had said. ‘Wasn’t I the one who discovered Kizzy? And I am on the School Board.’ She had been determined and indignant.
Mr Blount had written Kizzy’s story as briefly as possible; he also had a letter about her from the Admiral. ‘Please read them to the Court,’ said the Chairman and, when they
were finished, ‘Go on, Mr Blount.’
‘Well, sir, Admiral Sir Archibald Cunningham Twiss kept Kizzy while she was ill—’
Mr Blount was interrupted by Mrs Cuthbert: ‘She ought to have gone to hospital. I said so at the time.’
‘. . . while she was ill,’ repeated Mr Blount, ‘but she is well now and, for all the Admiral’s kindness, we doubt if it’s fit, sir, for her to stay on at Amberhurst
House.’
‘Not with three old men,’ said Mrs Cuthbert and Doctor Harwell was nettled to reply, after he had looked at the Chairman for permission, ‘I believe Admiral Twiss is sixty,
Peters, the houseman, in his fifties, while Nat might be forty-five,’ said Doctor Harwell. ‘That is not old.’
‘Too old to look after a child.’
‘Please don’t speak out of order, Mrs Cuthbert,’ and the Chairman resumed, ‘It seems they looked after her very well. We have Doctor Harwell’s report, but even if
it were desirable, it would not be fair to ask Admiral Twiss to—’
‘Keep her.’ Mrs Cuthbert could not resist finishing for him. ‘Of course not. She must go into a Home.’
Ignoring Mrs Cuthbert, the Chairman asked Mr Blount, ‘You have tried all your register of foster-parents?’
‘Yes sir, but it isn’t easy to place a traveller child.’ Mr Blount looked worried. ‘They seem . . . afraid of her, sir.’
‘Well, do you wonder,’ Mrs Cuthbert broke in again. ‘She’s a little wildcat. There was trouble at school and you should see the scratching she gave my Prue. She’s
dirty—’
‘Not now,’ said Mr Blount.
‘Not even house-trained.’
‘She is now.’
‘And they say she hasn’t a vestige of table manners.’
‘Mr Blount! Mrs Cuthbert! May I remind you we are in Court where we do not speak out of order.’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Mr Blount was ruffled but Mrs Cuthbert closed her bag with an angry snap as, ‘Miss Brooke,’ the Chairman turned to her. ‘I think you have
something to say?’
‘Only that you can’t expect to have table manners when you haven’t a table. Some gypsy children eat with their fingers and wipe them on their hair afterwards.’
‘Ugh!’ said Mrs Cuthbert.
‘It isn’t “ugh” to them. They believe it makes hair soft and silky – and you know, in some ways they think us dirty.’
‘Us? Dirty? ’ Mrs Cuthbert was incredulous.
‘More than dirty,’ said Miss Brooke. ‘A gypsy might refuse to have a cup of tea with you because he can’t be sure of how you wash your china.’
‘ Well! ’ Mrs Cuthbert almost spluttered.
‘You might use the same bowl for washing out clothes,’ said Miss Brooke. ‘They use separate ones. You might put your tea towels in the spin dryer with your bed-linen or
underclothes. I think we must remember –’ Miss Brooke said to the Board and flushed as if she did not like laying down the law, ‘ – try to remember – we are dealing
with different standards and different doesn’t mean bad.’
‘A wise reminder,’ said the Chairman. ‘I think, Mr Blount, you should bring in the child.’
Mr Blount fetched Kizzy, who was waiting in the vestibule with Peters; she came in, her shoes shined as carefully as the Admiral’s, her coat
Now the table was covered with papers, a group of people sat along three sides with the Chairman’s higher-backed chair in the centre; he had a woman magistrate on either side, the one on
the left was Miss Brooke. Mr Blount as the Children’s Officer was there, and Doctor Harwell; so, also, to their annoyance, was Mrs Cuthbert. ‘Of course I should be there,’ Mrs
Cuthbert had said. ‘Wasn’t I the one who discovered Kizzy? And I am on the School Board.’ She had been determined and indignant.
Mr Blount had written Kizzy’s story as briefly as possible; he also had a letter about her from the Admiral. ‘Please read them to the Court,’ said the Chairman and, when they
were finished, ‘Go on, Mr Blount.’
‘Well, sir, Admiral Sir Archibald Cunningham Twiss kept Kizzy while she was ill—’
Mr Blount was interrupted by Mrs Cuthbert: ‘She ought to have gone to hospital. I said so at the time.’
‘. . . while she was ill,’ repeated Mr Blount, ‘but she is well now and, for all the Admiral’s kindness, we doubt if it’s fit, sir, for her to stay on at Amberhurst
House.’
‘Not with three old men,’ said Mrs Cuthbert and Doctor Harwell was nettled to reply, after he had looked at the Chairman for permission, ‘I believe Admiral Twiss is sixty,
Peters, the houseman, in his fifties, while Nat might be forty-five,’ said Doctor Harwell. ‘That is not old.’
‘Too old to look after a child.’
‘Please don’t speak out of order, Mrs Cuthbert,’ and the Chairman resumed, ‘It seems they looked after her very well. We have Doctor Harwell’s report, but even if
it were desirable, it would not be fair to ask Admiral Twiss to—’
‘Keep her.’ Mrs Cuthbert could not resist finishing for him. ‘Of course not. She must go into a Home.’
Ignoring Mrs Cuthbert, the Chairman asked Mr Blount, ‘You have tried all your register of foster-parents?’
‘Yes sir, but it isn’t easy to place a traveller child.’ Mr Blount looked worried. ‘They seem . . . afraid of her, sir.’
‘Well, do you wonder,’ Mrs Cuthbert broke in again. ‘She’s a little wildcat. There was trouble at school and you should see the scratching she gave my Prue. She’s
dirty—’
‘Not now,’ said Mr Blount.
‘Not even house-trained.’
‘She is now.’
‘And they say she hasn’t a vestige of table manners.’
‘Mr Blount! Mrs Cuthbert! May I remind you we are in Court where we do not speak out of order.’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Mr Blount was ruffled but Mrs Cuthbert closed her bag with an angry snap as, ‘Miss Brooke,’ the Chairman turned to her. ‘I think you have
something to say?’
‘Only that you can’t expect to have table manners when you haven’t a table. Some gypsy children eat with their fingers and wipe them on their hair afterwards.’
‘Ugh!’ said Mrs Cuthbert.
‘It isn’t “ugh” to them. They believe it makes hair soft and silky – and you know, in some ways they think us dirty.’
‘Us? Dirty? ’ Mrs Cuthbert was incredulous.
‘More than dirty,’ said Miss Brooke. ‘A gypsy might refuse to have a cup of tea with you because he can’t be sure of how you wash your china.’
‘ Well! ’ Mrs Cuthbert almost spluttered.
‘You might use the same bowl for washing out clothes,’ said Miss Brooke. ‘They use separate ones. You might put your tea towels in the spin dryer with your bed-linen or
underclothes. I think we must remember –’ Miss Brooke said to the Board and flushed as if she did not like laying down the law, ‘ – try to remember – we are dealing
with different standards and different doesn’t mean bad.’
‘A wise reminder,’ said the Chairman. ‘I think, Mr Blount, you should bring in the child.’
Mr Blount fetched Kizzy, who was waiting in the vestibule with Peters; she came in, her shoes shined as carefully as the Admiral’s, her coat
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