by Liana Lefey
Opening it, he discovered several shelves of identical leather-bound folios. Plucking one out, he read the name “Antoinette Bellmonde” on its label. It wasn’t a name with which he was familiar. He laid it aside and pulled out another. This name, he did recognize.
If she’s in here, then Emma should be, as well.
They appeared to be ordered alphabetically by last name. Skimming down the line, he looked for Stone. On finding it, he saw the folio bore not one name on its label, but two. Emma and Rose. At last. Opening it, he carried it into the light.
Approximate dates of birth were recorded, physical descriptions… He brought the document closer and peered at it. To his trained eye, the ink in which their names were written appeared much darker than the rest of the intake record. It varied slightly in color, also, meaning it was from a different pot. Below, an accidental drip of this same ink obscured another word.
Their names had been filled in after the rest of the information had already been entered.
Laying the document aside, he pored over a report detailing their intake health exam, which was noted as having been performed by Dr. Whitehall. In it, the physician proclaimed them both to be in acceptable physical health, although he expressed concern over the older girl’s state of mind.
Long-term distress on behalf of the younger sister the likely cause of sleeplessness and stomach complaints. Recommend mild, nightly dose of laudanum to help induce sleep until it passes. Do not recommend separation for at least six months. Symptoms should be reassessed in two months.
Now why would Emma be “distressed” over her younger sister to such a point? And why would the physician recommend they be kept together? Had Rose been ill? He checked Rose’s record, but it showed no indication of any illness.
To his disappointment, there was nothing telling him who’d brought them to the school. They were merely listed as “secured and accepted.” Laying the file aside, he returned to the shelf.
In Janet Fairfield’s file, he found a bit more information. Parents Fred and Mary Fairfield were listed as deceased. He opened her intake health report, and his heart began to race as he read.
According to Whitehall’s notes, little Janet had been found unconscious, her broken body stuffed in a crate and left outside a grocer’s stall in the dead of winter. Malnutrition, evidence of severe physical abuse, right fibula broken, multiple phalangeal fractures, left orbital fracture suspected…
His stomach turned as he read on and he remembered how the little girl had flinched away from him when they’d first met. Someone had indeed beaten her. According to this, very nearly to death. The memory of her laughing, flowerlike face turned toward the sun as she’d played in the courtyard earlier today swam in his mind’s eye.
Anger washed the image in scarlet. That anyone could be so inhuman ought not to surprise him anymore, but it did.
Apparently, I’m not as jaded as I thought. With nothing upon which to vent his fury, Will swallowed his bile and forced himself to read on. There was no information concerning who had found Janet or who had brought her here.
He went back to the Bs and pulled out the file belonging to Suzette Bagley. Found on a street just off Cheapside, she’d also been brought in by an unnamed individual. He read down the list written by Dr. Whitehall. Malnutrition, exposure—
Shock nearly made him drop the file. The pox? The entry date was almost two years ago, which meant the girl had to have been one of Trouvère’s first students. According to the list he’d been given when he’d first arrived, Miss Bagley was now thirteen. Horror and pity welled up inside him. Though he was almost afraid to do so, he read on.
Claims to be the oldest of four children; whereabouts of parents and siblings unknown. Presume abandoned due to illness.
Two months later, another entry: Sufficiently recovered to attend lessons. Patient declared sterile as a result of disease. Recommend final work placement in an all-female home or institution.
“May I assume you’ve learned what you wished to know?”
Stifling a yelp, Will turned and saw Trouvère standing in the doorway, arms akimbo, her face an inscrutable mask.
Bollocks. He hadn’t even heard her come in. “I meant only to seek your advice about a student. I came in here thinking to find you, but—”
“My office is upstairs. And I know for a fact this door was locked.” She held up a ring of keys. “You will explain how you got in and what you are doing.”
He’d been caught. There was nothing for it but to tell the truth—or some of it, anyway. “I had questions that needed answering,” he blurted, avoiding the issue of his entry. “I’m sorry to have done it this way, but I saw no other means. You have been unwilling to talk to me.”
She entered the room, picked up Janet’s file from the desk, and glanced at it. “Now perhaps you comprehend why I’m so cautious when it comes to hiring people to work here.”
He could only nod. Oh, yes. I understand all too well, now.
“Who are you?”
A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. “You already know—”
“I know who you pretend to be. Who are you, really?”
Praying, he looked her straight in the eye and lied. “You checked my references, madame. I am William Woodson, former tutor to Lord Mulgrave’s children.” Go on, Danbury, brazen it out. He held up Suzette’s folio. “I might ask a similar question of you. What is this place, really?”
Her eyes narrowed, and he held his ground for all he was worth, hoping.
After a long moment, she seemed to make a decision. “A very special place, monsieur. The only place for girls such as these. Their lives, their futures, are in my hands.” She ran the tips of her fingers along the spine of one of the files on the desk. “Their past must remain here when they leave. It’s the only way they can progress beyond their humble beginnings. It’s the only way they can ever be free.”
Humble beginnings? The woman had a gift for understatement. “If you’d told me the truth in the beginning, I would have—”
“You would have pitied them,” she interrupted. “Each of my girls received pity in plenty when she was first brought here, but pity can do only so much. It can feed, house, and clothe them for a time, but it will not serve them in perpetuity. My students must have strength, courage, and purpose in order to survive once they leave my care. It’s my duty to impart to them these things as well as skills and knowledge.”
Again, questions filled his mind. But though they teemed on the tip of his tongue, he couldn’t bring himself to voice them.
“Now I must ask you, Monsieur Woodson: can I trust you? More importantly, can my girls trust you to keep their secrets? Not only from others, but from themselves?”
“Themselves?”
“How do you think the Misses Stone would feel if they thought you knew of their past?”
Discomfort threatened to make him squirm. “I see your point. Very well, I’ll tell no one of what I’ve seen here.”
“Neither can you discuss it with the other teachers,” she warned. “Not all of them are aware of the truth—at least not in whole. You may, of course, speak to me about it, provided there is adequate privacy in which to do so. It would not do for the students to overhear such a conversation.”
“But they already know.”
“We don’t discuss the past among ourselves here, because it serves no purpose to be reminded of it. We can none of us change what was, but we can have an effect on what is to be. That is my work here. It is also yours, if you choose to let it be so. If you wish to remain here, monsieur, I must ask you to respect this rule.”
“And if a student should come to me with a concern involving her past?”
A sad smile tilted her lips. “I cannot promise you it will never happen, but it’s most unlikely. My students hardly come to me with such concerns. They will never forget where they came from, but we do our best here to allow them to put it behind them. Some take longer than others to make
the adjustment, but they all do, eventually.”
She patted the little pile of files on the desk. “Emma and her sister, for example, are close to reaching a critical point in their new lives here, the time when they finally begin to realize there is real hope for a better life, that they can reinvent themselves. I beg you not to do anything to hinder their progress.”
He couldn’t stand it. He had to know. “Does this reinvention include giving them new names?”
The way the color drained from her face told him the truth before she could speak. When she finally did find her tongue, her voice came out unsteady. “In some cases, yes. I’m sure after reading some of those files you can understand why they might wish a new identity.”
That, he couldn’t deny, though he’d seen only a few. “And do you do this with the blessing of your nameless sponsors?”
“Yes. It’s an approved part of the process.”
“And what of the girl who arrived last night? When can I expect to see her?”
Chapter Nine
The ground shifted under Jacqueline. “How do you know about that?”
“I was awake and happened to be at my window last night when the carriage passed. I grew curious when I saw it stop in front of the school. Three people entered here—one of them a child. Two adults left.”
Fool! She’d not even considered his view of the school when suggesting Mrs. Hayton’s boardinghouse. “Yes, we had a new arrival last night. Before she joins the others in classes, she must first become at least somewhat accustomed to her new surroundings, learn the rules, and get to know some of her peers. In about a week, she will be assessed and hopefully begin lessons.”
“May I see her file?”
It was asked in such a meek, hesitant manner that it almost disarmed her. Almost. “I must know, Monsieur Woodson, what is your intention now that you possess this knowledge? Will you honor our mission here? Will you work to protect and nurture these children, to help them put aside their former lives and forge new ones?”
His eyes were unfathomable, and when he spoke, she could tell he selected his words with great care. “It seems to me a most noble and honorable mission. But you cannot expect me to simply agree without knowing more.”
Irritation would’ve made her waspish, but she knew he wasn’t to blame. The fault is mine for not being more careful. “What would you know?”
Questions flew from his mouth like a volley of arrows. “Where do the girls come from? Do they have living parents? Are they here of their own free will? How did they fall under your care?”
“Mon Dieu,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I can see you will not be satisfied with anything less than a full explanation.”
“Would you, were you in my place?”
“I suppose not,” she conceded. “As I told you before, the girls all come from places of pain. Some are orphans, others have parents who have chosen to allow us to care for their daughters in the hope of giving them a better life than they can provide. Some”—she glanced down at the files and held one up—“like Janet, were abandoned after suffering horrors at the hands of those who should have loved and protected them. They have no desire to return to their families.”
“I can certainly understand why,” he answered with a grimace of distaste. “The people who brought the girl last night, are there more like them? Are there others who know what this place really is?”
Jacqueline felt the blood leaving her face and strove to remain calm. “Yes. Several. I’m not at liberty to disclose their names.”
“Much like your mysterious benefactors,” he replied drily. “Then you are merely the headmistress and not the proprietor of this establishment.”
“The idea for the school was mine, and I aided in the founding of it,” she answered, unable to keep the pride from her voice.
“Why? Why would a woman like you want to create a school like this?”
It was a simple question with a simple answer—unless one knew her background. Answer him. “Because it’s the right thing to do. Did the Lord not admonish us to be like the Good Samaritan? When you see someone lying wounded by the side of the road, do you not stop to render aid? How could I see the plight of such children and not do this? I would have to possess no heart at all in order to deny their need.”
He stared at her for several heartbeats. She knew this because she heard every one of them in her ears.
“Forgive me for my cynicism,” he said at last. “It’s not often one meets someone so altruistic, and even rarer to find someone with the will to act upon such high thoughts in so bold a manner. I understand the need for secrecy and will honor it.”
Relief made her bones feel liquid, but she maintained her bearing and dignity. “And for that, you have my deepest gratitude.”
“The new arrival, what is her name? Does she have a file yet?”
For some reason, his curiosity no longer made her uncomfortable. He’d joined the ranks of those who fought alongside her. A tiny bubble of joy burst inside her. She turned and plucked a slim folio from the uppermost shelf. “Her name—though not for much longer—is Penny.”
Untying the cord that held the folio closed, she laid her initial intake report on the desk for him to read. Too late, she remembered the letter from Tavistoke still lay underneath it. It had become her practice to leave his introductory correspondence in the file for the doctor to read before making his exam. Once he’d completed his report, all said correspondence was fed to the fire.
Damned if Woodson’s attention didn’t immediately fix upon the letter! Reaching out, he took it before she could act.
“What’s this?”
“It is only a note explaining her circumstance.”
His eyes devoured it. “Penny. Six years old. Daughter of a brothel worker…” He trailed off, and his brow furrowed as he read on. When he reached the page’s bottom, his gaze remained there. “Was that her mother who came with her last night?”
“No,” she answered, her stomach knotting. “Someone else brought her here. A friend.”
“Of yours, or hers?”
“Both.” Her encouraging smile was wasted on him, for all his attention was focused on the paper in his hands.
Silence. Then: “This seal…I don’t recognize it as belonging to any of the lords, yet it must belong to a man of some consequence. Only a gentleman seals his letters thusly.”
Merde! Having worked for Mulgrave, he’d likely know. “A gentleman, yes—but no one of great import,” she said as lightly as she could manage, barely refraining from snatching the paper from his hands.
“And this gentleman, he’s done this before? Brought children like Penny?”
Careful now. “A few times, yes. He’s one of several who do so—all of whom wish to remain anonymous.” She hoped he hadn’t missed her emphasis on that last.
When he finally raised his head, his eyes were unreadable. “Well, the gentleman who wrote this certainly chose a very…unusual seal. You don’t happen to know its history, do you?”
“In fact, I do.” Though she tried, she couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice. “He once told me he had a dream in which an angel spoke to him, instructing him ‘to care for the flock’s lost lambs.’” Lord, forgive me for the lie. “He believes he is charged by God to do this work.” The last part, at least, was true. She’d once heard Tavistoke say heaven had cursed him by opening his eyes and would allow him neither rest nor peace unless he acted.
Woodson’s gaze bored into her. “What an extraordinary blessing, to possess such conviction. Had I received a message like that, I, too, would feel duty bound to obey it. He must be a man of very high morals.”
She nodded. “He’s the very best of men.”
“Tell me, how does such a moral gentleman learn of the plight of a brothel worker and her child?”
“I don’t know. I know only what is in the letter.”
“You did not ask the girl?”
Enough of this. “Penny arrived just l
ast night.” Leaning toward him, she fixed him with her sternest glare. “Monsieur, you must comprehend that these children are often in a fragile state when they arrive. It’s not my way to interrogate them the instant they cross the threshold and therein risk further damaging them. They tell me their troubles in their own time—if they tell me at all. There are some here who have yet to confide in me after almost two years. I don’t press them, for I refuse to make them relive in the telling what I already know they can never forget.”
His gaze dropped. “I did not mean that you should—”
“If you wish to be part of this, you will have to learn to set aside your curiosity and accept that you may never know the entire story.” Her throat constricted, but she forced herself to speak. “Believe me when I tell you there are some you will wish you never knew.” Quite deliberately, she laid a hand on Suzette Bagley’s file and patted it.
It had the desired effect, for he immediately blanched and looked contrite. “You’re right, of course.” Sighing, he glanced at the rows of records in the cabinet shelves. “Each of these represents a life not only saved, but changed.”
“In some cases, more than one.”
“Like Emma and Rose.”
“Yes, and like Penny and her mother.” Taking up the files he’d purloined, she moved to the cabinet and began putting them back in their proper places.
“Could not some way have been found for them to remain together? Did her mother have to abandon her?”
“She did not abandon her,” Jacqueline said, inching away to avoid brushing shoulders with him as he helped reorder the files. His nearness disturbed her more than she cared to admit. “You read the letter. Penny, though she is young, understands this is best for them both. You must accept it, as well. It’s hard at first, but you will grow accustomed to it.”
He stilled beside her.
Jacqueline pressed the folios’ spines into an even line, completing her task in uncomfortable silence. Finally, she had no choice but to face him.