by Laura Beers
Mrs. Foster lowered the needlework to her lap. “It isn’t like you to give up hope so easily,” she replied.
“True, but I find Lord Hawthorne’s words keep echoing in my mind,” Madalene said. “He is quite the naysayer.”
“Maybe the constable has a lead on the case?”
“Perhaps,” Madalene replied, unconvinced.
“Or Lord Hawthorne could have uncovered something useful?”
Madalene gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “I suppose that could be the case,” she replied. “Although, I hope my trust in him isn’t misguided.”
“He is only a marquess.” Mrs. Foster pressed her lips together. “But I have already expressed my opinion on the matter.”
“That you have.”
The door to the office opened, and Mrs. Kipper stepped into the room. She met Madalene’s gaze and announced, “Lady Hawthorne and her daughter, Lady Jane, have come to call.”
Madalene rose from her chair. “Will you show them in?”
“Yes, Miss,” Mrs. Kipper replied before departing from the room.
A few moments later, Jane glided into the room with a bright smile on her face. “What a charming orphanage.”
Madalene walked around the desk to greet her friend. “How would you know exactly?” she joked. “You have only seen the entry foyer and Edith’s study.”
“I just know that I am going to love everything about this orphanage,” Jane said matter-of-factly.
Lady Hawthorne walked into the room and came to a stop next to her daughter. “When you told us of your vision, I never imagined you would have brought it into fruition so quickly.”
“I promised my mother that I would open the orphanage as quickly as possible,” Madalene revealed.
With a tender smile, Lady Hawthorne said, “And you have succeeded in that regard, my dear. Your mother would be so incredibly proud of you.”
Touched by her words, Madalene gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you for that, Lady Hawthorne.”
Lady Hawthorne arched an eyebrow. “Since when have you started using my title?”
“My apologies, Harriet,” Madalene replied.
“That is much better,” Harriet said before she turned her attention towards Mrs. Foster. “How have you been faring, Leah?”
Mrs. Foster rose from her chair and placed her needlework on a side table. “Frankly, I am getting older, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.”
Harriet laughed. “I must agree with you there,” she replied. “I find that growing old does not agree with me, either.”
Jane spoke up. “Are you able to take us on a tour of your orphanage?”
“I am,” Madalene confirmed. “The girls are in their lessons right now, so it is a perfect time to observe them.”
Clasping her hands together, Jane said, “I do so love that you are educating these young minds. How very progressive of you.”
“Our goal is for the girls to find respectable employment upon leaving the orphanage.”
“That is most impressive,” Harriet remarked.
Madalene walked over to the open door. “We hope, in due time, that the orphanage will earn a name for itself,” she said.
“I have no doubt,” Jane stated. “After all, you are in charge of it.”
“That is kind of you to say,” Madalene said as she led them through a narrow hall, “but the truth of the matter is that we are still new.”
“How do you intend to place the girls in households with no recommendations?” Harriet asked.
Madalene glanced over her shoulder as she replied, “We are hoping to add more patrons to the committee for that reason.”
Harriet nodded approvingly. “I would be happy to be a patron.”
“That pleases me immensely to hear, but you haven’t even seen the entire orphanage yet,” Madalene said, stopping at the base of the stairs.
“I have no doubt that everything is up to the task,” Harriet remarked. “Frankly, you could have shown me a dilapidated building and I would have still offered to be a patron.”
“You are too kind,” Madalene acknowledged.
Harriet smiled. “I want this orphanage to succeed because it is important to you. I will help you in any way you see fit.”
“A recommendation from Lady Hawthorne would go a long way in helping to secure employment for these girls,” Madalene revealed.
“Then consider it done,” Harriet said. “Besides, we are constantly in need of new servants at Hawthorne House. I will speak to our housekeeper about that.”
Jane glanced up the stairs. “Is it always this quiet in an orphanage?” she asked.
“Not at all,” Madalene replied quickly, “but the girls are tucked away in their lessons.” She smiled. “You should have heard the commotion when it was raining outside, and the girls were forced to play inside.”
“I can only imagine,” Jane said, “especially since we had a few bouts of unruly behavior ourselves at school.”
“That we did,” Madalene agreed with a chuckle as she started up the stairs.
Once they reached the top of the stairs, Madalene led them towards a closed door. “Miss Gaillard is our new French teacher,” she revealed, “and she has quite a way with the girls.”
Madalene opened the door and stepped into the room. The girls were sitting on chairs in a circle and Miss Gaillard was speaking French to them.
Miss Gaillard stopped speaking and met her gaze. “Good morning, Mademoiselle Dowding,” she greeted in her usual thick French accent.
“Good morning, Miss Gaillard,” Madalene replied. “I apologize for the intrusion, but we were hoping to observe your lesson.”
Miss Gaillard nodded her understanding. “We are learning how to say our colors in French.” She glanced down at the girls. “Would anyone like to demonstrate what they have learned for Mademoiselle Dowding?”
A lanky girl raised her hand. “I would, Mademoiselle Gaillard,” she replied energetically as she kicked her feet under her chair.
Miss Gaillard gave her a look of approval. “Begin when you are ready, Tabitha.”
Jumping up to her feet, the girl recited, “Rouge, orange, jaune, bleu, violet, brun, noir, blanc.”
“Well done, Tabitha,” Madalene praised.
The girl smiled proudly as she rocked on her heels. “Mademoiselle Gaillard says that I am a natural at speaking French.”
“Does she now?” Madalene asked, smiling at the girl’s exuberance.
Miss Gaillard interjected, “It is true. Like Tabitha, all my students are excelling at a very rapid pace.”
“That is wonderful to hear,” Madalene praised.
“Earlier, I was telling the children about my childhood home in France,” Miss Gaillard shared, “and about all the brightly colored flowers that grew in fields that surrounded us, including the poppy flower.”
Jane stepped further into the room. “I am not familiar with the poppy flower.”
“It is a vibrant red flower that brings much joy to the people who look upon it,” Miss Gaillard said with a wistful tone in her voice. “I miss gazing at them from my room.”
“How long have you been in England?” Lady Hawthorne asked.
Miss Gaillard gave her a sad smile. “Since before the war,” she replied. “My parents thought I would be safer at my cousin’s home in Stratford.”
“And your parents?” Lady Hawthorne inquired. “Have they been affected by the war?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t heard from them in over a year,” Miss Gaillard admitted, her voice hitching.
Compassion was in Lady Hawthorne’s voice as she expressed, “I am sorry to hear that.”
Tears came into Miss Gaillard’s eyes, but she blinked them back. “It is I that should apologize,” she said. “I’m afraid I am letting my emotions get the best of me.”
“You have no reason to apologize,” Madalene asserted. “I can’t imagine how hard it is, not hearing from your parents in all this time.”
“Thank you,” Miss Gaillard responded. “But I can’t dwell on the negative, no? After all, there is no good that would come from that.”
“Well said,” Lady Hawthorne praised.
Tabitha raised her hand.
Miss Gaillard directed her attention towards the girl. “Yes, Tabitha?” she asked.
“Shouldn’t this conversation be in French?” Tabitha asked innocently.
Smiling, Miss Gaillard explained, “I have a rule that only French will be spoken once you pass through that door, and I’m afraid the girls have taken it to heart.”
“Magnifique,” Madalene said. “Au revoir.”
After they filed out of the room, Madalene closed the door behind them. “I must admit that I have been rather impressed with Miss Gaillard.”
“I can see why,” Jane said. “She seems very bright.”
Miss Foster spoke up as they walked down the hall. “Madalene has ensured that only the most delightful women instruct the girls.”
“That may be true, but I can’t take the credit for Miss Gaillard,” Madalene shared. “My solicitor was the one who recommended her for the position.”
Madalene came to a stop in front of another closed door. “Now for our next lesson,” she said. “Miss Hanson teaches every kind of needlework. She used to work as a dressmaker before she was hired on here.”
“She sounds quite proficient with a needle,” Lady Hawthorne mused.
“I believe you will be rather impressed by her as well,” Madalene remarked as she placed her hand on the round door handle.
Chapter Eight
Dressed in a threadbare grey jacket, Baldwin walked down the narrow and muddy street with his usual confident stride, despite feeling nearly every cobblestone beneath him. The boots he had selected to wear for the evening had thin soles and small holes along the top. His ill-fitting trousers were held up by twine, and his waistcoat was a faded black with tattered edges.
Leaving no room for chance, Baldwin had spent his day preparing for the meeting with the radical group. He was aware that he might be searched so he had left his overcoat pistols at home but retained a muff pistol in his right boot.
Baldwin stopped outside of the dirty building, ignoring the filthy odors in the air. He could hear riotous noise coming through the open windows. No sign hung above the door to identify it as the Blue Boar, but he knew he was at the right place. He opened the door and stepped inside of the hall. Lighted sconces hung on the wall and candles sat on the mantel above the fireplace.
Long tables ran the length of the hall and serving wenches hurried around to bring tankards to the patrons. He walked further into the room and caught the eye of a tall woman wearing a gown that had a scandalously low neckline.
She wiped her hands on her gown. “Welcome, stranger,” she greeted. “Can I get ye something to drink?”
“I am looking for the back room.”
The woman bobbed her head knowingly. “’Tis straight back,” she said, gesturing towards the back wall with a closed door.
“Thank you…”
Baldwin had barely uttered the words when the woman turned away from him. He walked the short distance towards the back room and reached for the handle. He turned it, but it was locked. Balling his hand into a fist, he pounded on the door.
It opened slightly, and a man stuck his head out. “What is it that ye want exactly?”
“I’m here for the meeting.”
“Go away,” he ordered gruffly, pulling his head in and closing the door.
Baldwin waited for a moment before he pounded on the door again. This time, the door opened a little wider.
“I said ‘go away’,” the man repeated, brandishing a pistol in his hand.
“I spoke to Sam, Edgar, and Paul last night at Floyd’s Coffeehouse and they invited me to the meeting,” Baldwin explained.
“Oh, ye did, did ye?” the man asked in disbelief. “And I’m the king’s brother.”
A man’s deep voice spoke up from behind the guard. “Let him enter.”
The guard opened the door wide and put his hand out. “After ye, sir,” he mocked as he bowed.
Stepping inside of the small, rectangular room, Baldwin saw two crowded tables and men standing along the wall. They all stopped talking and watched him enter the room, their eyes full of distrust.
A brawny man with long dark hair tied at his neck approached him. His eyes were cold and restless. “What business do you have with us?” he asked.
“I heard that you are free thinkers.”
“We might be,” the man replied, “but we don’t know who you are.”
Baldwin offered him a smile, hoping to disarm him. “My name is Baldwin Sparrow, and I want to join the fight against tyranny.”
“How do we know you are who you claim?”
His smile faltered. “Meaning?”
The man took a step closer to him. “How do we know you are not a Runner after blood money for turning us in?”
“I can assure you that I am no Runner,” Baldwin replied. “I have a rather unfavorable view of them myself.”
A man in the back of the room shouted, “Search him!”
The brawny man nodded in agreement, his eyes not leaving Baldwin’s. “A Runner would be carrying weapons on his person,” he said. “You don’t by chance have any on you?”
“I do not,” Baldwin said, holding the sides of his grey jacket open. “I don’t even have the funds to purchase one.”
The man stepped closer. “Where do you live, Baldwin?” he asked.
“Two blocks over on Draper Street.”
The man scrunched his nose. “You certainly smell like you live on Draper Street.” His eyes dropped to his boots. “Are you down on your luck?”
“No more than I suppose the rest of you are,” Baldwin replied.
“I want to search your place,” the man said unexpectedly. “That will tell me all I need to know about you.”
Baldwin furrowed his brow. “You want me to show you now?”
The man eyed him critically. “Unless you don’t truly have a place on Draper Street, and are trying to deceive us.”
“Not at all,” Baldwin replied. “I have nothing to hide.”
“Good.” The man turned towards the group and gestured to a broad-shouldered man with a thin mustache. “Tom will come with us.”
Tom rose from his chair and approached them. “I would be happy to.”
“Follow me, then,” Baldwin said, spinning on his heel.
Without saying a word, they exited the pub and walked down the street. Baldwin turned the corner and pointed towards a blackened building that was starting to fall in on itself. “That is where I live.”
“We shall see,” the man muttered, unconvinced.
Baldwin approached the main door and opened it, causing it to fall off its hinges. He rested it against the wall and headed up two flights of stairs, being careful to avoid the broken steps. He stopped at a door and reached for the handle.
“Isn’t it locked?” Tom asked.
Baldwin chuckled. “The lock hasn’t worked in ages.” He opened the door to the cramped square room and stepped inside. The smell of tainted air immediately assaulted his lungs.
Two straw mattresses were pushed up against the wall and his brother, Oliver, was sitting on top of one. He was wearing dark trousers that were too short on his long legs and a dirtied blue shirt, the top hanging open.
“What are you doing home?” Oliver asked, moving so his back was leaning against the wall. “You weren’t supposed to be home for hours.”
Baldwin gestured towards the two men. “They wanted to see where I live,” he remarked nonchalantly.
Oliver put his hands up. “Well, here it is. It ain’t much, but it’s ours.”
The man stepped forward into the room and asked, “And who are you?”
“I’m Baldwin’s cousin,” Oliver replied as a black rat scurried across the room, stopping briefly at the dirty bowls sitting
on the floor. “Who are you?”
The man’s eyes followed the rat as it disappeared into a hole in the wall. “My name is Morton,” he said.
“Well, Morton,” Oliver drawled. “I wasn’t expecting Baldwin home so soon, and I have a lady coming over. Do you mind?”
Morton turned back towards Baldwin. “I’m sorry I misjudged you, but one can never be too careful.”
“I understand,” Baldwin replied. “I would be the same way.”
A redheaded woman stuck her head into the doorway. “This was not our arrangement,” she declared after glancing around the room, and moved to turn away.
Oliver leapt up from the straw mattress. “Hey, lovely lady, come back here,” he encouraged, closing the distance between them. “They were just leaving.” He glared pointedly at the men.
The woman pouted as she glanced between them. “Good, because I need to get home shortly.”
Smiling flirtatiously, Oliver said, “And you shall. After we have had some fun of our own.” He turned to Baldwin. “You and your friends need to leave—now!”
Morton placed his hand on Baldwin’s shoulder. “I think we can head back to the meeting now.”
Baldwin nodded. “I would like that.”
As they exited the room, Baldwin tipped his head at his brother before closing the door. They exited the building and headed towards the Blue Boar.
Morton glanced over at him. “Again, I would like to apologize,” he said. “Having a meeting with any radical views is a good way to get oneself locked up. And Runners are merciless.”
“I am well aware of that,” Baldwin replied. “That is how I ended up in the Royal Navy.”
“You are a criminal?”
“Aye,” Baldwin confirmed. “I was robbing a shop to get my girl some pretty ribbon and a Runner came across me. The judge gave me a choice; prison or join the navy.”
“Do you regret your choice?”
“Nearly every day,” Baldwin asserted. “I was fighting for a monarchy that I don’t believe in, and we were flogged for any infraction. When I was assigned to a ship that was bound for the Americas, I walked off and didn’t look back.”
“You deserted?” Morton asked.
Baldwin nodded. “I did, but I served my time. The Royal Navy refused to release me, citing stupid reasons. They just needed more men to fight in their blasted wars.”