Page 35 of The Gentlewoman Companion (The Gentlewoman #4)
“You must change the story. Could they be relatives of another servant in this household?”
“I’ve already sent the story among the servants.
I must ask Margaret if she has told anyone why she is here and get her out of the servants’ quarters.
” He began to leave but then turned back to her.
“I almost forgot my purpose in finding you. I am visiting the Foundling Hospital in a few days. Will you come with me? I hope to bring Margaret as well.”
She agreed, and James smiled his thanks before rushing to check on Samuel and discover what, if anything, Margaret had told the servants. He would make whatever excuses he must to her and Mrs. Corfield to see his siblings were not caught in an unseemly position.
U nable to undo the untruth that Margaret and Samuel were relatives of Mr. Kent, James saw his siblings moved into guest bedrooms. Margaret’s mother had been a gentlewoman and taught her daughter to speak like a lady, but the one dinner she took with the family was fraught with tension as James squirmed under his mother’s questioning gaze.
Margaret refused to accompany Lady Halverton on social calls, using Samuel’s health as an excuse, so the occasions they were in the same room together were rare.
Still, the situation was untenable. James could not maintain the facade any more than he could send Margaret back to Rosemary Lane, although she continued to insist she would return there without accepting his money.
Although he had made little progress in convincing her of his sincere intentions to provide for her and Samuel, Margaret seemed to be growing more comfortable with him.
They managed a few conversations without arguing about the future, and she had agreed to visit the Foundling Hospital with him and Louisa that morning.
Louisa gave up the reins in favor of sitting beside Margaret while James drove the landau.
He had already told his sister that Louisa was the only person in the household who he’d entrusted with knowledge of her true heritage, and Louisa quickly put Margaret at ease, asking after remedies used on Samuel and commenting on Margaret’s gown.
He caught snippets of their conversation.
“The cording is a stroke of genius,” Louisa said.
“It is quite simple, really. I ordered a plain gown with excess fabric, then made and applied the cording myself.” Rather than growing embarrassed, Margaret became animated by the compliment.
James glanced over his shoulder to see Louisa surveying Margaret as if she were seeing a different person entirely. “You are very talented. I have been thinking of altering a few of my own gowns. Would you look at them with me?”
Their conversation disappeared into the clatter of carriage wheels on gravel as the landau passed through the gates of the Foundling Hospital, an enormous Palladian structure. Surely it could house every parentless child in England. They rolled to a stop.
“Gracious,” Margaret said. “Looks like a palace for little kings and queens.”
Inside the gates was a small lodge, in front of which stood a line of women holding infants. Some nursed while standing, others hushed and bounced their babies. Many were barefooted and wore insufficient clothing for the crisp fall weather.
James helped the ladies from the carriage, and the three of them stood together, watching the procession of impoverished women.
A boy of about eight stepped from the front of the queue and placed a child of perhaps two into a hatch built into the lodge. The small door closed, and the boy waited, bounced on one foot, then another.
The hatch opened. The child was thrust back into the boy’s arms.
“She is too old. Next!”
He tapped on the hatch door. “Bu’ I ‘ave nothing to feed her.”
A small door at the side of the building opened, and a woman emerged. She escorted the arguing boy and his sister to the rear of the main edifice.
“His sister will die,” Margaret said quietly.
Beside James, Louisa inched closer, her shoulder pressing against his arm.
A mother, no more than fourteen, placed her infant through the hatch and bowed her head, mouthing something—a prayer?—waiting for the verdict.
“We’ll take him. What have you for a token?”
The woman reached for her throat and yanked a string from her neck. From it hung a hazelnut, a symbol of luck. She was sending the child with a talisman of good fortune.
“I cannot watch.” Margaret walked toward the Foundling Hospital’s entrance with Louisa on her heels.
James tore his eyes from the mother’s pale, red-blotched face and walked away from the sob that racked her body as she retreated. He caught up with them. “I apologize. Had I known what we would see… Such inhumanity.”
Margaret nodded. “My mother died when I was sixteen, leaving me with a young child to care for. There were days and weeks that, despite my love for him, I would have put him through a hole in the wall and prayed for his acceptance. It is an impossible situation.”
“No such despair need threaten you again,” James said.
She stiffened. “As for that, we had better return to Rosemary Lane once Samuel is well, else we lose our lodgings.”
“I cannot allow that.”
“Allow? We never belonged to you.”
Not for the first time, he reminded her, “We have the same father. It is right that you and Samuel should benefit from his wealth.”
“My mother was born a lady, abandoned by her family after her first indiscretion. A series of men came and went, all assuring the same thing. I do not trust promises anymore.”
“You sell gin through your front door and sew by the light of a single candle through the night. That is no life for you. Think of our brother.”
“That is what I am doing. Besides, I like sewing.”
“Lord Halverton,” Louisa said, “leave her be.”
James sighed. They had come to the entrance; the conversation would have to wait. Inside, the hospital walls were freshly whitewashed, and the floor shone, the entrance hall resembling that of a great house, complete with numerous paintings.
Margaret whistled through her teeth. “Sell some of those and put meat in the stew.”
“It’s a gallery, of sorts,” James told them.
“Artists contribute their work, the wealthy come to examine the works, catch sight of the children, and are inspired to donate. Concerts are held here as well. Handel conducted the second performance of the ‘Messiah’ here. An effective strategy, I understand.”
A woman dressed as a nursemaid led them into the office of Mr. Bloomfield, the governor.
“Good morning, my lord, ladies.” Mr. Bloomfield, a round-headed man with drooping jowls, moved from behind his desk and greeted them in turn.
Once they were seated, James asked about what they had just witnessed in the yard.
The governor described their system. They accepted babies younger than twelve months who showed no sign of disease.
Upon approval, they were rebaptized with a new name and matched with a wetnurse in the country, where they remained until they were five years old.
Margaret sat on the edge of her seat. “The children are first given up by their mothers, raised by another woman for five years, and given away a second time?”
“Better than the alternative.” Mr. Bloomfield cleared his throat. “Upon returning, the girls are taught to become household servants, and the boys are apprenticed or join the military. We give them a chance to provide for themselves.”
James leaned forward. “Which is the most pressing need at the Hospital? How may I help?”
Mr. Bloomfield rocked back in his chair and fixed his eyes on the wall. “What we require most is more space.”
“Surely not. This place is monstrous.”
Mr. Bloomfield splayed his sausage-like fingers. “The demand is great.”
James thought of the long line outside and nodded slowly. “Perhaps I cannot conjure an additional wing to house more children today, but I would like to put my name forward for a seat on the General Committee of Governors. With time, I may be able to help provide solutions for the issues you face.”
“We do not vote on the matter for another three months, but your interest in the welfare of these children and your respected position will certainly give you an advantage.”
That, and the sizable donation James had already sent to the Hospital.
After a tour, wherein the nursemaid showed them the kitchen, the sleeping quarters, children practicing their letters, and children harvesting carrots and cabbages, they were dismissed and left to stand in front of a large, barren garden.
“I feel as though I put a drop of water into the Arabian sand,” James said. “It is good to see how my donations will be used, but it is not enough.” Beside him, his sister shivered. He must remember to purchase her a warmer cape. “There is a blanket in the carriage. Let us return home.”
They turned and saw a white-capped woman shove onto the gravel the same little boy who had earlier tried to bequeath his sister.
“We’ve told ye, there ain’t a corner for your sister.” She slammed the door.
“Do no’ you worry, skin and blister,” he said to his sister. “We’ll come back ’omorrow an’ the nex’ day affer un’il they ‘ake you.” The boy straightened when he saw his audience. “Unless this fine gen’leman an’ ladies will ’elp.”
Louisa went to the boy. “Where are your parents?”
“Dead.”
“Other relatives?”
“All gone. I ge’ along fine, but I’m afraid my sis’er ain’ strong enough.”
The boy had likely watched his parents die, perhaps other siblings. To be so young and so acquainted with death.
James approached the door and pounded until it opened again.
“Off with you!” The woman’s words cut off when she beheld the earl.
“I am Lord Halverton. This boy and his sister need asylum. Is that not the purpose of this establishment?”
The woman stooped into a clumsy curtsy. “My apologies, sir, but I must obey orders. No exceptions.”
“I will speak to Mr. Bloomfield, then.”