To Ruin a Rake (5 page)

Looking down, she smiled at the crumbs still clinging to her skirt and brushed them away. If people were loath to give of their purses directly, at least there were those who gave in some other form. The cake today was the result of a special gift of flour and sugar from the Duchess of Montrose—enough to bake several dozen of Mrs. Glasse’s new cakes with plenty left over. Thanks to her generosity, the children would have fresh bread for several months and enough sugar for their tea to last even longer, if properly stored and used sparingly.

Last year, she’d garnered a gift of soft gray flannel from Lady Roxburghe. It had been plain, but plentiful—enough to keep fifty-three children warm through the winter. What mattered the color, so long as it kept a body from freezing?

Lancashire coal from Lord and Lady Crawford.

Turnips and barley, each in their respective season, from Lady Townsend.

Forty new woolen blankets from Sir Danby. He’d sent them after adopting a young boy from the Hospital. His wife had sent her a private gift of their finest merino as personal thanks, as well. It had made a lovely cloak.

Great wheels of Somerset cheddar from Mr. Waxley.

Cast-off furnishings from any number of benefactors throughout the year.

In truth, she’d been blessed with kind connections. Without them, she would have had to turn away some of those most in need.

With all her heart she hoped Arabella’s condition remained a secret, lest she lose those connections and bring harm to the Hospital and its small charges. Her sister’s fall from grace had the potential of damaging far more than her good name. If the worst happened, she would have little choice but to leave in order to save William’s legacy from the taint of her family’s scandal.

Not for the first time, anxiety made Harriett chew her lip. Her chief worry should be the care of these children, not her sister’s foolishness. To receive the censure of Society over the sins of another seemed unjust in the extreme, but that was how it would be. Arabella—and her father and unwed sisters with her—would suffer complete ostracism.

Such a disaster would soon be followed by poverty’s gnawing bite, for Papa had a terrible habit of wagering beyond his means. In the two years they’d been in London, everything she had not managed to invest or hide had been frittered away thanks to his desire to play the role of a gentleman at leisure.

Even her dowry had been plundered. On discovering it, she had in secret begun taking a small portion of their monthly income and saving it at a different bank. Thus far, she’d managed to squirrel away four hundred ninety-three pounds. It was a meager nest egg, certainly not enough to save them from privation for very long.

The changing of surname was the only way to save her and her sisters. One of them must marry well enough to care for the others.

Harriett stared at William’s likeness. If an offer came her way, she would be foolish not to take it. He would want her safe and secure, but it was difficult to think of marrying anyone else. He’d been everything she admired.

He had never said outright he loved her, but in truth he hadn’t needed to say it. Theirs was an understanding of like souls, one that did not require such words. When asking for her hand, he’d told her he held her in the very highest regard and she was one of the finest people in his acquaintance. Never had she been paid a higher compliment. She held it close to her heart, revisiting it whenever she felt low.

Sitting down at the desk, she went through the various items left on her to-do list. The orders for the new beds, supplies, and labor to start the new construction were first. She dated the letters she’d already written and sealed them to be sent out immediately. The rest of the paperwork she sorted into stacks of varying importance. Those could be dealt with later.

When the clock on the mantel struck four, she was forced to set aside her work. If she did not leave soon, she would have to pay for a cab in order to get home before nightfall. She didn’t want Papa knowing she had walked—another money-saving tactic. Every shilling counted.

Rising, she stretched her legs and back. There was just enough time to pay a visit to her favorite charge. A short walk to the east wing brought her to young Jamie’s room. “Hello, my dear,” she whispered as she peeked around the door at a small boy tucked in bed.

His face lit at the sight of her. “I didn’t think you would come today.”

“I couldn’t leave without knowing whether or not you enjoyed the cake, now could I?” He looked better today, less wan and a bit more plump about the face. The poor mite had come to her starved and suffering injuries from the sort of hard labor no child should ever endure. He would grow now, at least, but his legs would never be straight. She came and touched his cheeks to be sure their high color wasn’t due to fever. He was warm, but not hot. Good. “I told Mrs. Tolbert to make sure you were given an extra fat slice.”

“Aye, she did. It was enough to feed a giant, ma’am!”

His gap-toothed grin was the most charming thing she’d ever seen. Her heart ached with the quiet joy of seeing him happy. “Wonderful! Now, I’ve spoken with the nurse and she is of the opinion that you are sufficiently recovered to begin attending studies with the other children.” His face fell, and she held up a finger to forestall objections. “You must, Jamie. I promised your father you would receive an education while you are with us.”

“But he’ll need me,” he said, his face scrunching. “Now I’m well again, I can help like before.”

She hated to do it, but there was no other choice. “Your father has gone, Jamie. He found work in another village—he would not tell me where—and he has taken your brother with him. A woman there offered to watch him during the day along with her own child so your father could work.”

The story was partly true; he
had
left for work in another village. But she could not tell Jamie his baby brother had died of privation and their father had brought him here to prevent him suffering the same fate. She could not bring herself to say he had then vanished without a trace.

Jamie’s eyes began to well, and she reached out to smooth his soft, brown hair.
Damn.
He is not quite five. So young...
“Without the income from your mother’s needlework, you and your brother were starving. Your father could not stop working to nurse you in your illness, and he could not afford to have someone else care for you. He loved you enough to do what was best for you by bringing you here. You would most certainly have died had he not done so.”

“But what’s to become of me when I’m well again, ma’am? Will he not come back for me?”

“No, Jamie,” she said gently. “He will not. He wants better for you than his life of hardship. We will care for you here until you are able to travel. You’ll like Newcastle. There, you will be taught how to read, write, and do arithmetic with other boys your age. And when you leave, you will be able to earn a decent living.”

“Read, ma’am?” His face was full of doubt. “But I’ve never read a word in me life.”

She smiled. “We will soon remedy that.”

His bottom lip trembled, and his eyes took on the hollow look of one who has just realized he is all alone in the world. It was a look she’d seen countless times since coming here. It was one of the reasons she kept coming back. Inside her lived a desperate need to drive that look out of a child’s eyes and see it replaced by trust and confidence. She folded him in her arms, as much to ease the ache in her own heart as his.

He lay against her and let loose the tears he’d been holding back since his arrival two weeks prior. He’d been so brave. She tightened her arms a bit. It seemed she was made to hold people while they cried. Once he finally stopped, she took out her handkerchief and mopped his eyes and nose. “There now, you’ll see that everything has worked out for the best. You’ll have a bright future thanks to your father’s selfless act.”

“Will I ever see him again, do you think?”

“I don’t know, Jamie,” she replied honestly. “Perhaps one day. But until then, I want you to look upon this as a gift from him. He wanted you to live and to have better than he could provide.”

He sniffled a little, and then took a deep breath. Even after two weeks in a warm room with plenty to eat, it still rattled. He would never survive if he had to work out in the cold. “I’ll do me best to make him proud, ma’am.”

“Good. Now it is almost time for your evening meal, and I must return home.” Rising, she gathered her cloak and satchel. “I shall return in the morning to look in on you, and I want to hear good things from the nurse. No more wandering about at night, is that understood? If you are hungry, you may ask for food and it will be brought to you. There is no need to prowl the kitchens.”

“Yes, ma’am,” mumbled the boy, looking guilty. “Ma’am?”

She stopped. “Yes?”

“If you do see him, I’d like to know. So I can send him some of me wages, once I’m able to earn me keep.”

Smiling, she made the promise. “I will, Jamie.” She waved goodbye and closed the door. It would never happen. In all her time here, not a single child brought through these doors had ever been reclaimed.

The sun was low in the sky as she let herself out. She’d stayed longer than intended, and now the shadows were long. Setting a rapid pace, she made certain to squarely meet the eyes of all who crossed her path. By the time she reached her street, her feet ached mightily. Slowing her steps, she put on a cheerful face before entering the house.

“At last,” burst Cat the instant the door closed. “I’ve been waiting for ages.”

“I’m sorry. It couldn’t be helped. He signed the papers and there was so much to be done. I couldn’t afford to wait.”

She moved toward the stairs, but Cat stopped her. “Papa is waiting for you in the sitting room. He said he wanted to speak with you the moment you returned.”

Oh, no.
“Did he say why?”

“If he had, don’t you think I’d tell you? Now go,” urged Cat. “Before he finds you in here nattering away with me and we both get into trouble.”

Reluctantly, Harriett did as she bade and marched to the drawing room. It would have been nice to change and trade her boots for some comfortable slippers, but she dared not delay.

Seated by the window, pipe in hand, was her father. “There you are. I’ve some news for you, Harriett.”

“For me in particular or just news in general?”

“For you specifically,” he said, knocking out the dottle and refilling his pipe. “Your sister sent word. She wishes you to attend her when the time comes. I would like for you to do so, as well, if you’re amenable. I think it will make things easier for her to have you take charge of the”—he looked to the door and lowered his voice further—“
it
and see it to its destination. But I leave it to you to decide. I won’t force you to go if you do not wish it.”

“Of course I’ll go,” she said at once. “I would never trust anyone outside our family with such a task.”

“Then it is settled. You’ll need to plan ahead and have your nuptial arrangements in order before you leave, so you’d best make it a quick courtship.”

She refrained from making any smart comments about the preferred order of carts and horses as he lit his pipe and drew upon it. The bowl came alive with a faint orange glow.

“I have spoken with Oxenden,” he said in a flat voice, smoke puffing from the corner of his mouth. “He has, as I anticipated, refused to have anything to do with the situation. We are on our own.”

Biting her tongue, she said nothing. To open her mouth now would be to uncork a flood of invective that would earn her father’s stern disapproval—despite the fact that he likely shared the sentiment.

“Now, why are you so late getting home?” he went on, switching from one unpleasant topic to another. “It is past five.”

“I am sorry, Papa.” She was bloody tired of apologizing to everyone and having to make excuses. “One of the children needed looking after, and it took me longer than I thought it would to extricate myself.”

“Mm,” he grumbled, glaring. “I cannot in good conscience forbid you from your charitable acts, but even you must admit you spend an inordinate amount of time at the place. You
should
be concentrating on finding a husband, not playing nursemaid to a bunch of sickly, fatherless brats.”

“Yes, Papa, but William—”

“William is dead,” he snapped. “And you are no longer invisible, Harriett. I know you’ve become accustomed to doing as you please from behind the shield of your mourning, but that time is over. You are once more under scrutiny, and people will be looking to find fault with you. I know you walked back. Wandering about London on your own will only cause talk. Under the circumstances, none of us can afford to step even so much as a toe out of line.”

She was sick of hearing that word: afford. There was so much they could not afford—in any sense of the word—these days. Perhaps she
ought
to make more of an effort to catch a husband. At least as a married woman, she would be under the aegis of another family’s reputation and finances.

“I understand, Papa,” she said, bowing her head and peeking up at him with what she hoped looked like contrition.

“Good. Now go and change for dinner. I shall expect you downstairs within the hour.”

Dismissed, she trudged up the stairs, her feet protesting each step as she reflected on her earlier thoughts regarding marriage. The man she married didn’t have to be Croesus, but he certainly needed to be of adequate means to ensure their family’s security. And
not
a gambler. She had yet to understand how anyone could logically arrive at the conclusion that it was wise to wager their limited income on any game of chance. She would not tolerate such imprudence in her husband.

And he had to be faithful. She never wanted to have to worry about catching the pox or any of the other potentially unpleasant side effects of one’s husband keeping mistresses or visiting brothels.