Her own reaction surprised Phoebe. He’d been abrupt on the hill, and her initial instinct was to withdraw. But he didn’t give her any opportunity. They were going to the orphanage. Still, she’d restrained her natural instinct to refuse, fight back, and only do things on her own terms. She’d argued with herself that he needed a chance to get over what had to be a shock. Phoebe understood the strong loyalty he had to this particular charity.
So she forced herself to be patient. Not her strongest quality.
When the carriage stopped on High Street, just below Tron Church, he muttered something about waiting until he returned, and she watched him disappear down Bailie Fife’s Close.
While arguing with Millie this morning, Phoebe had predicted this would happen. She’d wanted to let the sleeping dog lie and forego writing the article. But her sister had spoken about what Phoebe wanted to accomplish with this column. If she saw her writing as a moral duty to create change for the better, then it was “imperative” that she speak to the captain and share what she knew. She’d insisted that perhaps not by her pen but by his influence, a change could be made.
Phoebe had grudgingly accepted her sister’s position . . . and look where it had gotten her. Abandoned in a carriage and scorned by the only man she’d ever been romantically drawn to.
“No self-pity,” she chided herself. She was here to visit the oldest charity establishment in the city. If anything, this was an opportunity to learn. Perhaps she would gain knowledge that she could share with her sister Jo.
“Learn and be useful,” she whispered under her breath.
“Excellent advice.”
Startled, she shut her eyes for a moment and ordered her heart to restart its beating. He did this to her every time.
The captain handed her out of the carriage and introduced her to a Mr. Douglas, one of the managers of the orphanage, who was clearly enthusiastic about showing them around the facility.
The driver was sent away, and as Phoebe followed their guide, a cloak of sadness descended on her. The tall man walking beside her was acting as the distant Captain Bell of her youth, who never noticed her in all the years of her friendship with his sister.
“Buildings have been added on to other buildings as the need for more places for children has been steadily increasing,” Mr. Douglas told them. He went on to explain that they’d had a surge during the wars. The orphanage spread in every direction and was now crowded in by other buildings on every side.
“When the Orphan Hospital was originally opened here,” the manager told Phoebe, “the neighborhood was rural. One wouldn’t even guess it, to see the area now. The city has quite overwhelmed us, but we do the best we can.”
As Mr. Douglas went ahead of them up the steps of the first building, Phoebe turned to her companion. “Please don’t feel the need to accompany us, Captain Bell. I promise not to run away or offend anyone.”
“On the contrary, I’m keen to see the place operating on a normal day, without any of the frills of a Directors’ Visit.”
If their guide had any inkling of the tension between his guests, he showed no indication of it and ushered them in.
“We’ve come a long way since our inception eighty-five years ago. We initially opened our doors to thirty orphans,” Mr. Douglas explained. “Today we care for over two hundred fifty.”
The face of Jock Rokeby came to her again, and she wondered if he was too old to find a shelter in a place like this.
They moved from room to room, floor to floor, where boys and girls were busy in a multitude of tasks involving both books and trade. They all looked younger than Jock. And all of them looked healthy, but the allegations she’d passed on to Captain Bell were never too far from her mind.
“The great architect William Adam designed this hospital building two years after the Orphan Hospital opened,” the manager informed them as they moved to the next building. “And that allowed us to house increasing numbers of abandoned children. Our charter is to care for all and bring them up to be healthy, God-fearing citizens. We don’t take that charge lightly. We give them an education and teach them a trade. We prepare them for the world, m’lady.”
“I see,” she replied.
She could feel Ian close behind her. He asked no questions and said nothing to her, but she knew she was being watched.
Suddenly, a dozen girls poured into the corridor they were passing along, bringing with them noise and liveliness appropriate to their age. One of the children stopped near Phoebe, curtsied and stared up at her. Nothing said, only large, dark eyes studying her.
Phoebe crouched down to the child’s level. “Good morning. What’s your name?”
“Nylah.”
Curly, dark hair struggled to escape the confines of a cap. The sprinkle of freckles on her button nose was endearing. “How old are you, Nylah?”
“Six . . . on my next birthday.”
Phoebe thought of her brother Gregory and his adopted daughter, Ella. She too was an orphan, but fortunate to be blessed from birth with the love and devotion of her aunt Freya.
“Are you here to work in the sick room?”
The child’s question drew Phoebe’s attention. “No, I’m not.”
“Too bad.”
“Why do you ask?”
She shook her head and small brown fingers reached up and touched Phoebe’s face. “Your eyes. They’re nice. Like the women who care for us when we’re sick.”
Phoebe had no opportunity to ask anything more of the child, as she ran off to rejoin her group and disappeared down a set of stairs.
Phoebe started to straighten and found Ian’s proffered hand. She took it and their gazes met as she stood up.
“Your eyes. They’re nice,” he whispered before letting go of her hand and stepping away.
He knew exactly how to knock her off her feet. She followed Mr. Douglas as he continued with his commentary about the building, but Phoebe’s mind kept returning to Nylah and her words . . . and Ian’s echo of them.
“About fifty years after the initial construction, the spire was built. The wings to the east and west were added soon afterwards.”
The faces of the children fascinated her. Despite the harshness of losing parents and the dire circumstances that led them here, they were alive, and their eyes shone with curiosity and hope. She understood Ian’s interest, his passion to protect the institution that offered this young generation a future, unlike the disaster and danger that awaited boys like Jock.
“Six years ago, a large school room, the new wards for the sick, and the wash house and laundry were constructed,” Mr. Douglas announced.
Phoebe came to a stop and turned to the manager. “The wards for the sick. Can you take us there?”
“Of course, that area is right on our way,” he replied. “We’re quite fortunate in that we enjoy the support of medical college’s directors. Our sick children are cared for by the doctors. And we have a group of matrons and older orphans who see to the patients’ needs.”
Phoebe felt her cheeks go warm with the heat of embarrassment. She was wrong. They were ignoring the City Parish’s orders.
The baseless nature of her accusations cut at her conscience. Ian’s strong objection to what she’d said to him on their way to Arthur’s Seat was justified. She hadn’t misread the minutes Leech had given her. There were specific directives, but they’d been disregarded. This was a possibility she’d never entertained.
Ian followed her closely on their tour. Always near, but she felt the wall he’d erected between them. She wished for a private moment to speak with him right now. There was so much she wanted to say, to explain. But there was no slowing the manager down.
“Here we are,” Mr. Douglas announced when they ascended stairs to a corridor where a number of interconnecting rooms housed the sick. “This morning, we have nearly twenty children here because of fever, and that has us worried.”
Phoebe stood in the doorway. Rows of beds were filled with sick chil
dren. Flushed faces peered up. Young women dressed in the plain homespun dresses and long aprons carried bowls of water and fresh linens from bed to bed. The visitors continued on to the next room and the next. It was all the same. The sick were being taken care of.
As they descended and went out into the courtyard where they started their tour, she turned to their guide.
“Thank you, Mr. Douglas, for allowing me to have such a thorough and educational look at your institution,” she told him. “I’m very impressed.”
The young manager beamed. “I am so happy to hear you say so, m’lady. We’ve always been entirely grateful for the generosity of Lord and Lady Aytoun in support of our efforts.”
“My parents help out, you say?” she replied quietly.
“Indeed, as does the Lord Justice, your brother. A steadfast supporter of our efforts, he is. It’s an honor to share what we are trying to do with any member of the Pennington family. I only wish we could have prepared for your visit.”
A chill ran through her at the thought that while she’d been ready to write a scathing report on the Orphan Hospital, her own family was a staunch supporter of it.
“Thank you, but you could not have given me a more enlightening tour. And I do hope your patients mend quickly.”
“As do I, m’lady,” he replied, glancing up at the windows of the sick rooms.
Phoebe didn’t want to look into Ian’s face. She’d inferred that he was disappointed, and now she knew he had every right to be. As a director of the institution, he had to know about the involvement of her parents and brother here. How foolish he must think her for jumping so easily to the wrong conclusion.
Congratulating Mr. Douglas one last time for his efforts, Phoebe left the captain speaking with the manager about charity business.
Ian’s carriage waited on the street, but she bypassed it and turned up High Street. She needed to breathe, to think, to try to come to terms with what it was that she’d set out to do and where she’d gone wrong.
Phoebe passed through the intersection of High Street and South Bridge. Crowds of pedestrians, carts, and carriages filled the crossroads. Street vendors hawking their wares stood along the front of Tron Church.
She’d not walked twenty paces beyond when she felt the same sensation she’d had in the Grassmarket the other day. Someone was watching her.
Phoebe looked around her. Strange faces stared back. A shadow moved in a doorway across the street. A man jostled her as he passed. An idler leaning against a building flashed a knife, only to cut an apple. A chill washed along her skin, raising gooseflesh in spite of the warm sun. She could feel other eyes on her.
Phoebe bumped into a woman carrying a large basket of linens. A small lad with a dirty face and eyes the size of saucers trailed after her. Begging the woman’s pardon for not watching where she was going, she glanced around to find the sensation gone.
The washerwoman and her boy moved off. For a brief moment, she imagined Jock’s tall and lanky frame standing in the shadows of a doorway, watching after her. But she blinked again, and he was gone too.
Phoebe started up High Street again, her mind returning to the mess she’d narrowly avoided. Still, the poor on the streets were very real. The growing number of women and their wee ones in the shelters were not her imagination. And the rumors were everywhere about the poorhouses turning out the old and sick.
She recalled how she’d come upon Leech’s name. An Edinburgh woman newly arrived at the Tower House at Baronsford. She’d related to Phoebe that she had friends in the city who’d mentioned a clerk for the City Parish who had proof of the rumors. When she pursued it, he’d been willing to sell his information for a price.
That was her first mistake. She’d too readily believed him. She’d done nothing to corroborate what he offered her.
“How foolish of me!”
“You’re far from foolish.”
She whirled around and found herself face-to-face with Captain Bell.
“Why are you so intent on frightening me out of my wits time after time?”
As she tried to calm the swirling mix of emotions within her, Phoebe realized it didn’t matter. He was here. He’d come after her.
“You’re not foolish,” he repeated, taking her by the arm. “But we need to talk.”
She couldn’t agree more. They walked back to his carriage, where he climbed in after her.
Phoebe needed to say what was on her mind while she still had some control over her emotions. Grace’s advice. Millie’s words. But none of it applied. Today wasn’t about compromise, but rather about her arrogance in thinking she had enough knowledge on an issue. She’d made a mistake. A premature assumption. And she had thankfully been given the opportunity to learn more before she dug a hole large enough to bury herself and the entire Edinburgh Review.
“I’m glad you brought me here. I needed to see this place for myself. I was foolish . . .” She stopped herself, seeing his frown. “I was too quick in jumping to conclusions. I’m heartily sorry for my wrongful attack of the orphanage.”
It was difficult to say those words, but Phoebe knew she’d decided on the tone and direction of the article without giving any thought to the possibility that the individual institutions would decide for themselves how to proceed. The minutes of the meeting proved nothing.
“An idealistic person has a view of the world as it should be,” he said. “And there is so much confusion and corruption in evidence everywhere that it’s hard not to see fault where none exists. But that only makes the duty of the person who wields the pen so much greater. He . . . or she must be relentlessly thorough in the search for the truth.”
Phoebe recognized the power of the press and thought she understood the responsibility that went with that power. But she’d learned she had some distance to travel in that regard.
“May I share a story with you?”
“Please do,” she said, happy that he wasn’t going to insist on her groveling. Although, if groveling eased her current feeling of guilt, she might be willing to eat humble pie for days.
“Eight years ago, a similarly unwarranted attack was made on the Orphan Hospital. The charges were made in an article that appeared in the Scots Magazine.”
She hadn’t heard of the article, but she now better understood Ian’s reaction. “What were the charges?”
“The writer relayed the accusations of a German aristocrat who’d been in Edinburgh on a prolonged visit. In the column, the magazine printed the traveler’s insinuations, based largely on secondhand report, that the Orphan Hospital had seen a dramatic decline in order and management.”
Phoebe thought of the papers she received from Leech and how easily she’d assumed the worst.
“I take it the writer who penned the article never visited the facility,” she said.
“I believe that to be the case. But that’s not the end of the story.” Even now, Ian could not hide his irritation.
“While the managers of the Orphan Hospital knew the accusations were groundlessness, they also knew the dangerous effects of such a report,” he explained. “They invited the Principal of Edinburgh University, a noted professor of divinity, the presidents of the Royal Colleges of Physicians and Surgeons, and the Lord Provost of the City to conduct an immediate and thorough investigation into the institution.”
“What happened?”
“The libelous defamation was refuted. A full report was issued and printed in the same magazine, with an editorial apology.”
And the writer had been discredited, she thought. This could just as easily have happened to her. And in Phoebe’s case, she’d have the wrath of her family on top of it too.
“But none of what I said describes the true damage,” he continued. “With the publication of the article, false rumor spread word-of-mouth, adding to the poison. Before the results of the investigations could be published, financial support of the Orphan Hospital decreased substantially.”
The implications of h
is words were sinking in. Damage to a charity had been immediate, and the children being brought up there were surely the ones who suffered from it.
“How long did it take for support of the orphanage to recover?”
He shrugged. “The fall is swift, but the climb back requires strength and patience and time.”
Phoebe tugged at the ribbon of her bonnet and yanked it off her head. Damnation. The impulse to rush ahead without considering consequences was indeed a great flaw. And she recognized it in herself. How close she’d come to causing a disaster for this charity.
“Before coming out with you today, I’d already decided not to write the article I told you about.” She jammed her reticule in her bonnet and put it on the seat. “However, my decision had been based on knowing you were involved with the Orphan Hospital. But now I find myself far more knowledgeable. I’m ashamed I even brought up such allegations.”
He leaned forward and planted his elbows on his knees, swallowing up the space in between them.
“In bringing you to the orphanage, I knew what you’d find. And I’m not saying that our system of caring for the poor in Scotland is perfect. But what we have is far better than they have in England,” he asserted, holding her gaze. “If directives are being issued regarding this visit from London, I suspect they are intended to flaunt Scottish superiority rather than to injure those who are injured already. What red-blooded Scot doesn’t want to be better than an Englishman in everything? But if other institutions are wrongheaded enough to be putting their sick out on the street, we can assert pressure to stop it.”
“Stopping it is what is most important,” she told him.
“I shall write today to the contacts I have in those places, as well as to their directors,” he replied. “And if you like, I can arrange for you to visit every poorhouse in Edinburgh and Glasgow that you care to see.”
Phoebe didn’t know what to say to him. Regardless of their disagreement, he had behaved in the most generous manner imaginable, and her heart ached with gratitude. She so much wanted to reciprocate in some way. She wanted to do something for him. Or the truth be told, she wanted to do something for the two of them. Phoebe desperately needed to know if he still considered her a friend or if she’d forever lost his respect.
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