by Rose Pearson
Laura tried to smile but found that she could not. Despite Lady Alice’s assurances, she felt spirits sink all the lower, knowing that soon Lady Alice would be caught up in society’s whirlwind and unable to spare even a moment to call upon the orphanage.
“May I wish you the very best with your search for a suitable gentleman,” she said, a little dully. “I pray it is successful.”
Lady Alice blushed. “Thank you, Laura. I am sure it will be. Elouise will have a new uncle very soon.”
Swallowing her sob, Laura turned towards the open door of the carriage and, with a final squeeze of Lady Alice’s hand, stepped out of the carriage door and looked up at the old, dirty building of the orphanage.
“Thank you for all of your kindness, Lady Alice,” she said, turning away from it. “Should you wish to write to me, you know where I will be.” She said this with only a small flicker of hope but Lady Alice nodded fervently.
“Of course I will,” Lady Alice said, hastily, leaning out of the carriage after her. “I do not want our friendship to come to a close, Laura, even though you may think so. I will not be tossed about by all manner of things within society but, instead, shall ensure that I keep my wits about me and remind myself that what matters most is the state of one’s heart.” She smiled at Laura, her eyes filling. “I have learned that from you. To have kindness, compassion, and love in one’s heart is better than anything on the outside. You are my inspiration, my dear friend, and do not think for one moment that I intend to forget you.” A single tear slid down her cheek, landing on the cobblestones below the carriage. “I shall write just as often as I can.”
Now believing that Lady Alice would do just as she said, Laura felt her own tears come in earnest. “Thank you, Lady Alice,” she said, hoarsely. “I will reply to you when I can, of course.”
“Good.” Picking up her reticule, Lady Alice pulled something out of her bag and handed it to Laura. It was money. A good deal of money.
Laura shook her head. “No, Lady Alice, I cannot take this.”
“Yes, you can,” Lady Alice said, firmly. “And you will. If not to spend on yourself, then to spend on your girls. You must take care of both yourself and them. I will send you some more next quarter. Be sure of it.”
Laura wanted to refuse, wanted to say no but in her mind’s eye, saw the new clothes she could buy the girls, the decent food she might be able to purchase once in a while, under Mary Sander’s nose.
“Thank you, Lady Alice,” she whispered, looking up at her friend. “I know the girls here will appreciate this.”
Lady Alice smiled, looking relieved. “You are more than welcome, my dear. Write to me soon. I will miss your company.”
That said, the door was closed, the horses moved, and the carriage rolled away, carrying Lady Alice with it. Laura waved as she watched, hating to see it move away and carry so many of her memories with it.
Turning back to the orphanage, she looked down at her bags and, with a heavy sigh, picked them up as best she could before staggering towards the house. This was the life she had to become used to again. There would be no more footmen to aid her with such things, no maids to come with trays of tea, cakes, and biscuits. Instead, she would have to be all things to all people, doing all she could to keep the girls as happy and as content as could be.
One step inside the orphanage told her that all was not well.
The place was deathly silent, her footsteps echoing on the creaky wooden floor.
“Hello?” she called, wandering towards the kitchen and hoping the cook was there. “Hello? Mary? Helen?”
There came no answer. Peeking around the kitchen door, she saw the cook hard at work, busy chopping onions or something similar.
“Ah, cook, good to see you,” she exclaimed, hurrying forward. “how have you been since I went away?”
The cook looked up and Laura saw that her face was pale with bloodshot eyes.
“Glory be,” the cook whispered, putting the knife down and coming towards Laura. “Glory be, it is you.”
She caught Laura’s hands and held them tightly, her eyes filling with bright, shining tears. “Oh, it’s just been terrible, Miss Laura. I was praying and praying you’d come back here.”
Laura’s gut wrenched as the cook urged her to sit down, still holding her hands all the while.
“Where are the girls?” Laura asked, hoarsely, wondering why it was all so quiet. “Where have they gone?”
“They’ll be back afore long,” the cook said, getting up from her chair. “Miss Sanders has started taking them to Smithfield Market, down the far end nearer to the gentry.” She twisted her lips, her displeasure evident. “They’ve got to sell their own wares now and look as sad as possible in doing it.”
Laura caught her breath, her eyes widening. “What?” she whispered, as the cook bustled about. “But the girls always did their embroidery and the like here, and then Mary would sell it herself. Why has she taken them to the streets?”
The cook shook her head, lifting the corner of her apron to wipe at her eyes before handing Laura a cup with a small chip and then setting the teapot and milk jug on the roughhewn table. “She thought they might be able to make a little bit more money, what with their sad eyes and sorry tales.” She sat back down and continued to cut up the potatoes. “And she was right. You should see the new hat she’s bought herself.”
Laura could hardly take this in, her breath catching in her chest as she stared at the cook, wanting it all desperately to be some kind of dream.
“I should have come back sooner.”
The cook shook her head. “This ain’t your fault, Miss Laura. None of it is. It’s all that Mary Sanders, and well you know it.”
“But what about Helen?” Laura asked, desperately. “She was always a good sort, able to understand what the girls needed. I thought she’d do awfully well.”
A long, heavy sigh escaped the cook. “Helen’s a foolish girl. As soon as Miss Sanders realized that Helen wasn’t about to do what she wanted, she managed to find her another position. A better position in fact, so that no-one could say that Mary Sanders didn’t take care of her staff.” She lifted one eyebrow in Laura’s direction. “But, of course, if that had been you, you’d have seen what Miss Sanders was up to and would have refused to go – but that ain’t Helen. She saw the money and saw the house and agreed almost at once! Them girls have been on their own ever since.”
Laura sipped her tea and tried to think carefully. “What has Mary been doing?”
“All sorts,” the cook replied, hacking at the potatoes with a little more force than was needed. “Getting them to stay up all hours to get as much embroidery done as possible. Doesn’t seem to notice when they miss meals and if one of them gets caught crying about something or other, they’re given a sharp slap and warned to keep their tears for the streets.” She grimaced and shook her head, her eyes narrowing. “There’s been many a girl coming back from selling their wares with red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks – but with all their embroidery gone. Miss Sanders can see that it works, too. That’s why she’s keeping on doing it.”
Laura took in a breath and let it shudder out of her, trying her best to think calmly.
“I ain’t saying that Miss Sanders is thinking of getting rid of you too, Miss Laura, but I’d be careful around her,” the cook finished, looking at her carefully. “She’s a changed woman, that Miss Sanders, that’s for sure, but those girls need you, Miss Laura. They need you more than ever before.”
“I’m glad I came back,” Laura whispered, half to herself. “My poor, poor girls.”
Two hours later and Laura walked into the girls’ shared bedroom, her eyes taking in each and every face. The girls, as one, rose to their feet with clamoring voices, all trying to get near her at once. Tears flowed down almost every face as Laura embraced them all, one at a time, taking in their pale cheeks, their sorrowful eyes, their dull, tired expressions.
“Elouise is going to stay wit
h the Duke,” she explained when the girls looked at her expectantly. “He is adopting her.”
There wasn’t even a hint of jealousy as the girls expressed their delight that Elouise would have a happier life than she had ever had here. They had all known – and sympathized – with just how upset she had been.
“I am sorry to hear that Miss Sanders has been treating you so badly,” Laura said gently, brushing the blonde hair out of Mary’s face, the youngest child at the orphanage at only three years of age. “You have not all had to go out, have you?”
The eldest girl, Betty, who was twelve, nodded her head. “I’ve had Mary and Rosemary to take care of, Miss Laura,” she explained, talking about the two youngest girls. “They stand with me and help sell whatever we have.”
Laura closed her eyes for a moment, feeling a spurt of anger race through her. “That won’t be happening any longer, I promise. Things will go back to how they were before.”
Unfortunately, that did not bring a smile to any of the girl's faces.
“I ain’t so sure Miss Sanders will like that idea, Miss Laura,” Betty said, slowly. “She’s treated us different these last few weeks and seems to be enjoying it too. I don’t think she’s going to want to give it all up just because you say so.”
Laura knew that she was only in Miss Sanders’s employ and that she did not have any particular clout, but neither could she just let Miss Sanders continue to treat the girls in such a disgraceful way. They deserved the best life that they could have, even in an orphanage, and that didn’t mean standing on street corners trying to flog their wares.
“Don’t worry,” she promised, seeing a flare of hope in Betty’s eyes. “I’ll think of something. I have arranged to speak to Miss Sanders this evening and, hopefully, by then, I’ll have something in mind to put a stop to all of this. I just need you to trust me.”
The girls nodded, smiles appearing on some small faces. Their trust in her brought an ache to her heart as well as a growing frustration that she could not do more for them.
“I will think of something,” she whispered again, before hugging the girls close once more.
16
“Come in.”
Laura took a deep breath and opened the door, praying silently that her ruse would work.
“Ah, Laura,” Mary Sanders cooed, not looking in the least bit glad to see her. “Do come in. Sit down. I suppose you are tired from your trip back to London but I’m afraid I can’t spare you even an extra hour or two of rest. You will need to go straight back into your duties.”
Laura sat down opposite Mary Sanders, taking in the new gown that she wore with a suspicious eye.
“And how does little Elouise do?” Mary Sanders continued, not really looking Laura in the eye but rather looking past her, as though she did not particularly care about the girl whatsoever. “Settled with the Duke, is she? I am glad, of course.”
“Why are you glad, Mary?”
The question seemed to startle Mary Sanders, who frowned almost immediately, her eyes finally fixing on Laura.
“There is no need to take a particular tone with me, Miss Laura,” she said, firmly, her gaze direct as she lifted her chin a notch. “I am glad for Elouise, of course.”
Laura did not back down, her fingers curling into a fist such was her anger. “Are you glad because the Duke was able to give such a wonderful financial gift to the orphanage?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “Or is it that you are truly delighted that Elouise is finally getting a new home instead of being forced to remain here?”
Mary Sanders looked a little stunned, clearly befuddled by Laura’s angry response. “I – I am glad for both, of course.”
One of Laura’s eyebrows arched high. “I hardly believe that, Mary. I know you very well, remember? I know that you have always cared more about money and income than you have about the girls. That is why I was so very reluctant to leave this place, given the fact that it would be you that would be left behind to run this place alone. I hear Helen tried to do what she could for them, but you found her another position so that she would not bother you any longer!”
Two spots of dark red appeared in Mary’s cheeks. “Don’t you dare speak to me in such a way, Laura! You have no right – ”
“You are treating these girls as if they are your own personal servants!” Laura interrupted, angrily. “Keeping them up all hours to work on their embroidery and the like, simply so that you may sell it? Is the orphanage in truly such a poor state that they are forced out onto the streets to sell whatever they can?”
Mary Sanders glared at her. “The orphanage costs money to run, Laura.”
“Even after that generous financial gift from the Duke?”
That seemed to shut Mary up, for she struggled to speak for a moment or two, her mouth opening and shutting like a fish. Laura shook her head, her disdain growing by the minute.
“These girls are exhausted, Mary,” she continued, firmly. “This nonsense is to come to an end; do you hear me?” Leaning forward in her chair, she fixed her employee with a grim stare. “The youngest, Mary, is so tired she can barely eat, such is her exhaustion. The others are more worried about her than you seem to be! How can you treat them in such an appalling manner, Mary?”
Mary Sanders swallowed hard, her cheeks now a little pale although it seemed she was attempting to find some kind of firm response that would set Laura in her place.
“I have returned now, and I will not have them treated so any longer,” Laura finished, directly. “Tomorrow, the girls are to rest for as long as they please and do nothing more than eat and sleep. No more being dragged out to the streets with instructions to cry and wail and act out their grief, Mary. This has gone on long enough.”
“How dare you?”
Laura’s back stiffened but she forced herself to keep a hold on her temper.
“How dare you?” Mary hissed again, slamming one hand down hard on her desk. “You think that you can speak to me in such a way without any kind of consequences, Laura? You are nothing more than a hired worker, someone who I can let go without reason or explanation. I have nothing more to say to you. Your time here is at an end.” She narrowed her eyes, leaning over the desk. “This is my orphanage, Laura, and it seems you have forgotten that. Now pick up your things and be on your way. You are to leave my premises tonight.”
Having expected as much, Laura rose to her feet but did not move towards the door. Instead, she held out a note to Mary Sanders, who sank back down into her chair and looked at it doubtfully.
“I suggest,” Laura said, calmly, praying that Mary Sanders would be taken in by her deception, “that you read this before you make any kind of decision, Mary.”
For a moment, Laura thought that Mary would rip up the note and throw it in the fire without so much as looking at it but, after a tense moment, she took it carefully from Laura’s fingers and opened it.
Laura sat down primly, feeling the roll of money in her pocket. A small smile tugged at her lips, but she suppressed it with an effort.
“This cannot be true,” Mary whispered, her face now a deathly pale as she raised small, frightened eyes towards Laura. “This is a deception.”
“Is it?” Laura stood up again and smiled down at Mary sardonically. “You are very mistrusting, Mary. Can you not understand the Duke’s concern for the place where his new daughter has come from? Can you not understand that Elouise herself has told him everything about this place?”
Mary Sanders trembled visibly.
“I am, of course, in the Duke’s debt for his kindness towards me. In fact,” Laura continued, firmly. “Lady Alice herself considers me a friend and we are to remain in close correspondence. She intends to visit the orphanage whenever she can, for she is in London for the Season and has assured me that she will call upon me whenever she can. She herself is quite taken with Elouise and considers her to be a part of the family. I can assure you, Mary Sanders, that none of this is any kind of deception.”
Aside from the note, which you pored over for hours in an attempt to make it look and sound like Royston’s writing, she thought to herself, remaining exactly where she was.
Mary Sanders shook her head, looking down at the note. Laura could remember almost every word she had written, for she had read it over and over again to ensure that it sounded completely genuine. The handwriting had taken a good deal longer to perfect but perfect it she had and now, it seemed, Mary Sanders was quite taken in by it.
“He says that he wishes to have a quarterly report from you,” Mary whispered, the note shaking in her hand. “A report that will detail what the girls have been doing and goes into detail about their welfare. Lady Alice will be visiting on occasion also…..” She trailed off, looking up at Laura seemingly unable to get out of her chair. “Are they to become benefactors?”
Laura smiled and tugged the money out of her pocket, holding it up so that Mary Sanders could see it. “I am to delegate this money responsibly, as you can see from the note,” she said, quietly. “So yes, Mary, it does seem as though they are to be our benefactors, but they do not trust you to delegate the money carefully nor treat these girls with the respect and consideration they deserve.”
“But how could they suggest such a thing?” Mary replied, her voice breaking with suppressed emotion. “What was it you said, Laura? What did Elouise say?”
Laura snorted and walked towards the door. “I hardly think that matters, Mary, do you? Needless to say, the Duke will be keeping a very close eye on this establishment and you do not want to displease a Duke of the realm now, do you? His displeasure will become known all throughout London, if not England as a whole, and you will find your reputation somewhat sullied.”
Her reputation was of great importance to Mary Sanders, Laura knew and smiled to herself as she saw the lady shrink back into her chair.
