by Mary Nichols
‘Did you have a Season?’ he asked.
‘Yes, that was how I met Edward. He was the only one of the young gentleman on the scene that year that I found I liked and luckily he liked me too.’
‘Is liking enough when choosing a partner for life?’
‘No, of course not. It is much better to be in love. I adored Edward and was struck down when he was killed, but he came from a long line of military men; soldiering was his life and I had to accept that he would not have wanted to stay at home when his friends and comrades were fighting. The time we did have together was very happy and I can look back with fondness and not regret, except…’ She stopped with a sigh.
‘Except?’ he prompted.
‘I did not have a child. I hoped I might be enceinte before he went away, but it was not to be.’
‘I have no doubt you would make an admirable mama,’ he said quietly.
‘Thank you.’ She turned to look at him. ‘And you a very good papa. I cannot believe you have not thought about marriage and setting up your own nursery. Looking after other people’s children is no substitute—’ She stopped suddenly, remembering the tale her grandmother had told her about him. Perhaps she should not have spoken. They had established such a good rapport, she felt she knew him well, but of course she did not. Oh, she knew about his views on children and ex-soldiers and the Regent’s extravagance, things like that, but not the inner man, not whatever it was that drove him so relentlessly. ‘That was unforgivably impertinent of me,’ she said.
‘Not at all. It is no more than my aunt tells me all the time.’
‘But I am not your aunt.’
‘No, thank goodness. But I could say the same to you. Have you thought about marrying again?’
‘It is not the same for ladies, is it? Men can do something about it, find a young lady and propose, but we poor females must wait to be asked.’
‘And have you? Been asked, I mean.’
‘I might have.’ She could say no more, for Robert had not wanted anyone to know before his sister and daughters and she respected that.
‘More than once, I’ll wager.’
‘That would be telling.’ She chuckled. ‘Are you quizzing me to see if I will make a suitable foster mother?’
‘Not at all,’ he said a little stiffly. ‘I knew that the minute I saw you grab little Joe to safety and that has been borne out since by the wonderful way you have with the children at the Home.’
‘I was only teasing. But surely you inspect the homes of your foster mothers?’
‘Of course we do. They are subject to a rigorous examination and are visited frequently to make sure they are not breaching their agreement with us.’
‘I do not wish to be treated any differently.’
‘Oh, Kate…’ he laughed ‘…I would not presume to inspect your home. My goodness, those four are going to think they are in heaven.’
Hearing him address her as Kate made her look at him sharply, but he appeared not to have realised his slip of the tongue and she was not affronted by it. ‘But you will visit us?’
‘Indeed, yes. It is part of my duty, and in this case, duty is pleasure.’
He drew up outside her house and escorted her indoors, but it was not until after he had been paid his respects to Lady Morland and the Reverend and left again that, Kate told them she had offered to take four children.
‘Four!’ Lady Morland’s exclamation echoed Simon’s. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses? I thought you were only going to have one.’
‘I know, but they all looked so appealing and I could not choose one over the other, so I said I would take four.’
‘Kate, this is madness. Thomas, tell your foolish daughter she must retract the offer. We cannot have four little urchins running round the place. We shan’t have a minute’s peace.’
Her son simply smiled. ‘Kate, are you sure of what you are doing?’ he asked.
‘Yes, Papa. They are only coming for a week or two. Two of them expect to be reunited with their families very soon, and the others will be found more permanent homes.’
‘Then, my dear, I shall not speak against it. But…’ and he wagged a finger at her ‘…you are not to overburden Susan. She has enough to do as it is.’
‘You are as bad as Kate,’ Lady Morland told him. ‘And what about the Viscount?’
‘What about him?’ Kate asked. ‘He is in Paris. I am not having the children permanently, they will probably be gone by the time he comes back to England; if they are not, it will not matter. He will not live here, but at his own home, so I cannot see how the children can discommode him. He will not even see them.’
‘Kate, are you being deliberately obtuse? He will want to take you out and about and invite you to his home. You have yet to meet his sister and his daughters. How are you going to do all that and look after four children? They are not like Lizzie’s four, are they? You cannot hand them back to a fond mama when you tire of them.’
‘I shall manage. And I am not going to do nothing waiting for Viscount Cranford to appear.’
‘Kate!’ her grandmother exclaimed in shock. ‘How can you dismiss the Viscount in that way, as if he were of no importance? He is your future husband, or had you forgotten?’
‘No, I had not forgotten.’
The trouble was she had. And that made her feel guilty. Of course she was looking forward to seeing him again, but that was laced with a certain amount of trepidation. They knew each other well through their letters, but that was not the same as meeting face to face, talking to each other. Supposing her memory of him had played her false? Supposing she did not like him after all? Or he found he did not like her? In a way she wanted him back, but in another way she was half-afraid, though exactly what she was afraid of, she could not put into words. Dare not.
Doctor Redfern brought the children in an old-fashioned town chariot with the name of the home painted on its side. Kate welcomed them literally with open arms and hugged them all, though Michael, considering himself too old for such things, pulled a face and hitched himself out of her way. ‘Come upstairs,’ she said, after introducing the children to her grandmother and father. ‘I have had my old schoolroom made ready for you and two bedrooms made up, one for the boys and one for the girls. Shall you come and see?’
In the face of her enthusiastic welcome, they relaxed a little and followed her up the stairs, with Simon bringing up the rear. In the schoolroom, which would also do duty as their dining room and sitting room, there was a jug of lemonade and half a dozen glasses on a table and a plate of little cakes Kate had made that morning. The children fell upon them eagerly, until Simon reminded them to mind their manners.
Kate invited him to sit down and he lowered himself on to a battered old sofa and sat watching her as she poured lemonade for the children, talking softly to them, her voice a gentle background to his thoughts. Already he felt he knew her, knew what she thought, knew how she would react to any situation, and with the knowledge came admiration. She was definitely getting under his defences, weakening him, and he was not sure he liked it. Ever since he had stormed out of Grove Hall, the day after Charles had told him he had offered for Isobel and been accepted, he had kept himself firmly under control. It had held him in good stead on the battlefields of the Peninsula and afterwards, going round the rookeries of London, doctoring the poor and trying to save the little children; it had been the only way he could keep his self-respect because he had, as a gentleman, been obliged to allow Isobel to be the innocent. To the rest of the world, he was the jilt, the one at fault.
‘You will come again, won’t you?’ Kate asked him, as he was leaving. ‘The children will like that.’
‘Of course. I have to make sure they are behaving for you.’
He was being a fool, he chided himself as he rode back in the old coach, and dangerous for his hard-won peace of mind. But delightful too.
When he had gone, Kate took the children into the garden to run around and expen
d some of their energy before taking them up the back stairs to the nursery suite where they were given their evening meal, said their prayers—something they had only learned to do since being taken into the Hartingdon—and were tucked up in bed.
Michael protested loudly that he was older than the others and never went to sleep before midnight. Kate compromised by giving him a book to look at; though he could only read an odd word here and there, there were pictures in it and he reluctantly took it to bed with him.
‘He is so determined not to go to sleep, he might end up learning to read some of it,’ she told her grandmother. But when she went to look at him an hour later, he was fast asleep and the book lay open on his chest.
Joe wet the bed that first night and then howled because he was expecting a beating for it, but Kate simply scooped him up, pulled off the offending sheet and changed his night attire for his day clothes. Her cousin’s boys had been dressed in petticoats at Joe’s age, but he was clad in cut-down pantaloons and a loose smock. Remembering her father’s admonition not to overburden Susan, Kate washed the sheet and soiled garments herself.
While she was doing that, Michael disappeared and could not be found. ‘The little devil is hiding,’ Kate told her grandmother. A search of the house and garden and then the surrounding area was made with the help of the servants, but the boy seemed to have disappeared into thin air. Kate was in a panic. She imagined him lying injured or—Heaven forbid!—dead in a ditch, being run over, drowned, carried off. Whatever would Dr Redfern think of her, losing one of her charges the day after he arrived? But he had to be informed and the sooner the better. She was sitting down to write a letter to him when the boy came back on his own.
‘Michael, where on earth have you been?’ she demanded, grabbing his arm so that he could not disappear again. ‘We have been searching everywhere for you.’
He shrugged her off. ‘Don’ like bein’ shut indoors. Went for a walk by the river. Brought this for you.’ He pulled a wriggling eel from his pocket.
She recoiled. ‘What am I supposed to do with that?’
‘Make a pie. Very tasty is eel pie.’
‘Then take it to Cook at once. And don’t go off again without telling anyone. I am responsible for your safety.’
‘Weren’t in no danger.’
‘All the same, I want you to promise you will not go near the river,’ she said. ‘It is dangerous. If you were to tumble in and drown, I should be very upset and in dire trouble with Dr Redfern.’
The jobation washed off him like water off a duck’s back and he went off to the kitchen to present his trophy to Cook. Kate knew she ought to tell Dr Redfern what had happened, but did not want him to think she was incompetent, so decided to say nothing.
‘Better send him back where he came from,’ her grandmother said.
‘No, I am not going back to Dr Redfern and admit I failed.’
‘Stubborn as a mule. You will wear yourself out.’
Kate conceded her grandmother had a point. ‘Do you think Susan’s young sister, Joan, would come and help with the children, until Dr Redfern makes more permanent arrangements for them? I can afford to pay her a little.’
‘Then I suggest you ask her.’
Joan was installed in the nursery suite. She was only fifteen, but she was one of a large family of whom Susan was the eldest, and she had been helping her mother with her siblings. A younger sister was now able to take over that role, freeing Joan to follow Susan into service. She did the children’s washing, swept, dusted and tidied their rooms and fetched their meals from the kitchen, glad to have a comfortable home and a wage. But it was Kate who ministered to their emotional needs, talking to them, cuddling the younger ones, giving the older ones some schooling, scolding them when necessary.
Joe was still little more than a baby and he was no trouble as far as discipline was concerned, and surprisingly Michael seemed to enjoy looking after him, though Kate had to watch what he was teaching him. Sarah was always hungry and ate everything put in front of her at such speed, Kate wondered how often she had gone without food in the past. Annie was the quiet one. She clung to Kate as if to a lifeline and followed her everywhere.
‘Do not let her become too dependent on you,’ Simon warned when he visited two days later.
‘She is lonely and afraid. When she realises there is nothing to be afraid of, she will join in the games with the others.’
‘Shall we take them to Hyde Park for a little outing?’ Keeping an eye on children he had fostered out was part of his duty, although that did not include taking them out and amusing them, but he found himself wanting to prolong the visit. For once he was not thinking of the past; it was slowly beginning to lose its importance.
Kate agreed it would be a good idea. ‘Papa is in his study, endeavouring to work on his book, and he will appreciate a little peace and quiet.’
As soon as they arrived, the children tore off across the grass, running and jumping and tumbling head over heels, shrieking in voices that were far from genteel. Kate and Simon followed, smiling indulgently. Neither seemed aware, or perhaps did not care, that they were the subject of gossip among the park’s other visitors. There were matronly ladies out with their daughters taking the air in open carriages, young men driving phaetons and others riding handsome horses, not to mention the strollers, intent on sharing the latest on dit. The contrast between the well-dressed adults and the noisy plainly clad children was worth a comment. And there were some who knew who they were. The scandalous heir to Lord Redfern and the daughter of the noted scholar, Reverend Morland. What a pairing! And who were the children? Redfern’s by-blows?
‘It is good to see them happy,’ Simon said. ‘Even Annie seems to be coming out of her shell.’
‘How is her mother?’
‘She is not yet ready to be discharged from hospital. You are not anxious to be rid of her, are you?’
‘Not at all. I am pleased to be able to help her.’
‘Bless you.’ He went chasing after Joe, who was wandering down to the water again, and grabbed him up before he could reach it. ‘No you don’t, young fellow-me-lad. You stay close to the others. Here, Annie, take his hand.’ He relinquished the child to the girl and turned to find Kate chasing Sarah with a buttercup in her hand. The girl was laughing as she tried to escape. And then Michael joined in. Simon stood and watched and was filled with wonder that in a few short days Kate had managed to work a near miracle. He felt a lump come to his throat and swallowed hard.
All too soon it was time to go and the children were marshalled together to return to Holles Street. ‘We have all enjoyed ourselves today,’ Kate told Simon, prompting the children to add their thanks to hers. ‘You will come again, won’t you?’
‘Wild horses would not keep me away.’
Doctor Redfern had been right when he said it would not be easy; Kate found looking after four children and coping with their tantrums and tears took all her time, even with Joan’s help. But she did not regret taking them in and not for a moment would she have considered sending them back to the Hartingdon. And the doctor was a great help with his frequent visits and advice.
He arrived one afternoon, just as she was going to take the children out for a walk. ‘The weather is too nice to be indoors,’ she told him.
‘Splendid idea,’ he said. ‘I will come too.’ He knew he ought not to spend so much time with this particular group when there were dozens of other children on his list, but Kate was so delightfully refreshing and he was curious to know how she managed them so easily when other foster mothers constantly complained of the children and their behaviour, and the small amount the charity paid for looking after them. Kate had refused that allowance, saying she could manage without it. She was a marvel and he blessed the day he had met her. He would not admit, even to himself, that it was not only the charity that was benefiting, that some of the tension had gone out of him too.
They went to Hyde Park as before, where they left the pat
hs and wandered across the grass, bright with buttercups and daisies and scarlet poppies. Kate kept hold of Joe’s hand, but when his little legs tired Simon hoisted him on his shoulders. The girls picked the wild flowers and Michael tried chasing a rabbit that had been so foolish as to put its head above ground. It soon disappeared down another hole and he put his arm down it, hoping to reach the animal.
‘Why do you want to catch it?’ Kate asked. ‘It is a wild animal, you cannot tame it.’
‘Don’ want to, but it’d make a shilling in the market, if’n I was to get it out and kill it.’
‘You would do that, kill a living creature?’ she queried.
‘Course. Bash it on the head with a rock.’
‘Then I hope you do not catch it.’
‘It’s only meat,’ he said, removing his arm from the hole and standing up. ‘You eat meat, don’t you?’
Simon laughed. ‘He’s got you there, Mrs Meredith.’ To the boy he said, ‘Taking rabbits off someone else’s land is poaching, Michael, and this is Crown land. You can go to prison for it.’
‘Got to catch me first,’ he said complacently.
Kate looked at Simon, wondering if he was as concerned as she felt. Did the boy have no respect for the law? What had his parents taught him? Then she remembered that he had been orphaned very early in his young life and had spent most of it on the streets, until Dr Redfern found him.
They continued their walk and he was soon boasting of his prowess swimming in the Thames and diving for pieces of coal that had fallen from the barges. Kate wondered if he was going to tell the doctor about catching the eel and nudged him, shaking her head slightly. He grinned, understanding.
