Listening for Lions by Gloria Whelan Read Free Book Online

a conscience. Though I did not entirely believe Mrs. Pritchard’s words, still I could not put out of my mind the sad picture of the lonely old man clutching the letter that told him of his granddaughter’s death. I saw myself walking through the door of the room in which he was sitting and his face lighting up. He would put his arms around me. All the servants would be standing by saying they had never seen their master look so well and how it was a miracle. And at least for a short time I would not have to go to the orphanage.
    â€œI don’t know,” I said. “I think it would be wrong.”
    â€œNonsense,” Mrs. Pritchard said. “It is your Christian duty. If you could save the poor man and you chose not to, it would be as bad as murder.”
    Murder! To be accused of murdering someone was certainly worse than a lie. “How long would I stay there?”
    â€œOnly as long as Grandfather lives. A short time.”
    In a last desperate effort I stammered, “But, Mrs. Pritchard, I don’t think I should go. I’m not Valerie.”
    â€œThat has nothing to do with it.” She stood up. “Well, let us consider that it is all settled. You’ll be leaving in three days. Your railway and steamer tickets were purchased long ago by Mr. Pritchard’s father, but we have a great deal of work ahead of us. Your grandfather will have questions, and you must have answers. Now, while you finish your breakfast, I’ll begin the packing. Unfortunately just when we need them, our servants have been sent away.”
    It wasn’t settled in my head at all. It would be the end of me, the end of Rachel. I would disappear as surely as if I had been snapped up by a wild dog’s jaws. Yet what would that Rachel be who lived in an orphanage, was allowed no special friend, ate lumpy porridge, and spent the rest of her life scrubbing floors? Surely that would not be me either.
    So much had happened. Mother and Father gone. The hospital to close. I myself carried away from my home. For the moment I did not see how I could fight the Pritchards, but desperately I hung on to Rachel Sheridan.
    My lessons began at once and went on morning, afternoon, and night for three miserable days. Mrs. Pritchard had begun, “Your name is Valerie Agnes Pritchard. Mr. Pritchard’s father had two sons. The elder son died in the war and left no family. Mr. Pritchard is his second son. If Mr. Pritchard’s father were a just man, Mr. Pritchard would be in England preparing to take over the estate. Unfortunately Mr. Pritchard’s father is prejudiced against him.”
    â€œPrejudiced?”
    â€œMr. Pritchard had some difficulties as a young man, and his father has never forgiven him. It is very unjust. Mr. Pritchard should be in possession of the estate at this moment instead of having to rely on his father for every penny, selfish old man that he is.”
    When Mrs. Pritchard saw the shocked look on my face, she added, “Of course he will be generous to you—he has been already. And the day that he dies, a day that cannot be too far away, I am sure we will be remembered.” She looked off into the distance, as if she could see that pleasant day when the grandfather should be dead.
    She turned back to me. “We have heard rumors about his money and the estate going to some organization for birds, but no one in his right mind would do such a thing. If you endear yourself to the old man, things may come right.”
    We went through the family album. “You must learn who everyone is. Of course Valerie was born in Africa, as you were, so she never actually met any of her relations,but Valerie knew who they were. They are all gone now, so there is no possibility of your seeing them. Valerie hated Africa and like Mr. Pritchard and me couldn’t wait to go to England. There is no elegance here in Africa, no decent society. It was no place to raise a sensitive