Page 117 of Regency Whispers: Scandalous Matches

The inside of the orphanage was not much better. There were sloping wooden floors, small windows and a staircase that creaked ominously whenever anyone climbed it. The rooms were dark and draughty, and the accommodation consisted of one long, thin room for the boys and another of similar proportions for the girls. Downstairs there was a communal area set with tables where the orphans both ate and did their lessons.

Despite the grim conditions the children lived in, Simon had been pleasantly surprised when he met Mrs Phillips, the kindly woman appointed matron of the orphanage by the board of governors. There were twenty-four children under her care, all thin and pale, but neatly turned-out with faces scrubbed and hair cut short to guard against lice.

She had spoken passionately about the work she did in measured tones but with an accent that made Simon think she had grown up locally, perhaps even a child of the slum herself once. She certainly was a good advocate for the orphanage.

They were now sitting at the back of the room whilst the children were finishing their lessons. All twenty-four were taught together, despite them ranging in ages from two to fourteen. They sat, boys on one side of the room, girls on the other, the youngest at the front and the oldest at the back. At the front of the room the teacher pointed to letters and phrases written out, and the children had to read out in unison what they said.

‘Look,’ Alice whispered, motioning to a few children in the middle of the room. As well as reading the words they were also copying them onto slate tablets. ‘I think they only have four slate tablets between twenty-four children.’ She shifted a little, leaning forward to see a little better. ‘That is something we could easily donate funds for.’

As she sat back, her arm brushed against his, a fleeting contact, but it made him stiffen all the same. He realised he liked this version of his wife. Here at the orphanage, the naïve country girl he had married was long gone; instead, there was an idealistic woman who was determined to make a difference in the world. When she conversed with the matron, she spoke with conviction and confidence, a woman who was used to being listened to.

After a few more minutes the lessons finished and the children filed out of the classroom, some into the kitchen beyond to get started on helping to prepare the evening meal, others upstairs where no doubt some other work waited for them. They moved quietly, a little subdued, and Simon felt a pang of pity for those who had lost their families and now lived in this dull, monotonous life, although he supposed it was better than the alternative that waited for them on the streets.

‘Thank you for your visit, Lady Westcroft,’ Mrs Phillips said as she ushered the last of the children upstairs and came to stand with them. ‘We are most honoured in your interest in our small orphanage.’

‘I am grateful for your hospitality and your honesty,’ Alice said warmly. Mrs Phillips had a positive outlook, but she had not glossed over the shortcomings of the small orphanage, letting them see the bad alongside the good. ‘We have our next meeting of the London Ladies’ Benevolent Society in two weeks. I will report back to our members, and I am hopeful we will be able to offer some monetary and practical support.’ Alice paused, looking at the matron with an assessing gaze, then nodded as if making a decision. ‘I am conscious of your years of experience, Mrs Phillips, and I am wary of charging in and suggesting changes that may not be helpful, despite our best intentions. I wonder if you might take some time to write down what you think might be helpful so I can present your thoughts to the other members, or consider if you were willing to even come and talk to the ladies yourself.’ Alice held up her hands and smiled at the matron. ‘I know you are terribly busy, but give it some thought, and let me know what you can manage.’

‘I will, Lady Westcroft.’ Mrs Phillips turned to Simon. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Westcroft.’

‘And you, Mrs Phillips.’ He inclined his head and then offered Alice his arm as the matron showed them out.

Their carriage was waiting outside, surrounded by a gaggle of curious children. Simon was about to gently shoo them away when Alice gripped his arm.

‘Thank you,’ she said, looking up at him with her pale blue eyes. She had a contented smile on her face, and Simon felt a desire to keep that smile on her lips for ever.

‘What for?’

‘I admit I have only had the one husband,’ she said with a mischievous glance at him, ‘and that husband only for a few days, but I have seen how other men treat their wives. They disregard their views, silence their opinions. Many other men would have insisted on taking the lead with Mrs Phillips, even if it were not their cause to lead on. You did not. You stepped back and allowed me to be the one to ask questions and be in control, even for that short amount of time.’

‘Most men are fools,’ he murmured. ‘They do not listen long enough to their wives to realise what they have to offer the world.’ He smiled at her, feeling a unfamiliar satisfaction. This past year he had lived a lonely life, and he realised with a jolt that spending time with Alice, with her kind manner and lively conversation, were just what he needed. Despite the urge he felt to stand on the street corner staring into his wife’s eyes, he motioned to the carriage. ‘Shall we return home before we become targets for every cutpurse in London?’

Alice inclined her head, but as they stepped from the kerb to cross the road to their carriage, a group of beggar children broke off from the main gaggle and surrounded them, clamouring for money.

There were a couple of older boys in the group, but most of the children were no more than seven. Out of the corner of his eye, Simon saw a man leaning against the wall of a building on the other side of the street, and suddenly he felt a cold chill run through him. The man was resolutely not looking at them despite them being in his direct line of sight. It was suspicious, and without saying anything Simon reached out to grip hold of Alice’s arm, wanting to pull her closer to him.

He’d had a privileged upbringing with most of his childhood spent on the estate in Northumberland, but his time travelling had taught him to be vigilant and trust his instincts. He believed the human mind was very good at working out when there was something wrong: it was why people talked of following their gut. Right now his gut was telling him to get his wife out of this situation as quickly as possible.

Alice looked at him in shock as he wrapped an arm around her waist and propelled her through the crowd of children, into the carriage. They had almost made it to the door when one of the younger boys stepped in front of them and with lightning-fast speed whipped out a knife. He held it low so it was hidden from any casual onlooker by the press of bodies around them. Simon saw the boy’s hand was shaking, the knife weaving from side to side. He was a pale, scrawny lad, his face grimy and his feet bare on the cobbles. He looked pitiful rather than threatening, and as Simon watched the knife he realised it was likely a distraction. Whilst their eyes were fixed on the blade someone else would be trying to pick his pocket or relieve Alice of anything valuable.

He spun, reaching out to grab the thin wrist of an even younger boy whose hand had slipped inside Simon’s jacket. The boy cried out in fear, and after a second the crowd of beggars that surrounded them disappeared, the children scarpering in different directions, diving into alleyways or dashing around corners. Simon looked up, past the carriage, to see the man who had been observing them calmly walking away too.

Only he, Alice and the little pickpocket remained.

The boy struggled, wriggling and tugging at his wrist, desperation on his face as he realised there was no escaping this predicament.

‘Stop it,’ Simon said, his voice firm but not cruel. The boy looked only five or six, although it was hard to tell as he was clearly malnourished, his growth no doubt stunted by a poor diet.

The boy stilled, looking up at Simon for the first time with big brown eyes.

Next to him he felt Alice shift, but he dared not take his attention from the boy in front of him.

‘I don’t want to hang,’ the boy said after a minute, tears forming in his eyes and rolling onto his cheeks, making tracks through the dirt.

‘You’re not going to hang,’ Simon said, moderating his tone. ‘How old are you?’

The boy sniffed. ‘Seven.’

Simon grimaced. If he handed this lad to a magistrate and insisted he be punished for attempting to steal his purse, the child could end up taking a trip to the gallows. Some judges were more lenient towards the younger children that appeared before them, but others looked to set an example to thousands of children who committed crimes each year just looking to fill their hungry bellies.