“Yes,” Henrietta said past the lump in her throat. “Yes, I believe he was.”
“’E won’t make it if ’e don’t eat,” the girl said with a weary sigh.
Henrietta’s stomach clenched. All those days and weeks she had sat at Fanny’s bedside, able to do nothing. She knew that helplessness. It was part of what drove her to assist Lady Bess with her rescues. Now, given that Pinochle had recognized her, she’d be thwarted in her role of assisting rescues. Lady Bessington might be immune to gossip or criminal charges. Henrietta Wardley-Hines was not.
But there were other ways she could help.
“I am Henrietta Wardley-Hines,” she announced. “What is your name, dear?”
“Mary Ann Dowdy. Named after both me grandmothers, I am.” The girl heaved herself up and held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Henrietta smiled at her manners. “How long have you been here, Mary Ann?”
“Two days. I can stay, but they want to send Elijah to a baby farm.” She blinked away tears. “I don’t want ’im to go, but we got nowhere else.”
The London workhouses frequently sent infants out of town to be nursed and raised, it being thought they had a bettersurvival rate in the country. This also left their parents free to work. “Your home?” Henrietta asked, knowing Mary Ann would not be in the parish workhouse if she had other options.
“Rushy Green.” Mary Ann clenched her jaw. “An’ if I go back, my da’ll just trade me to another man to pay his debts. I left to get away from ’im.”
Henrietta swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Such great, undeserved fortune she’d had, born the daughter of Jasper Wardley-Hines, a man who would never abuse those in his care.
“E’ryone said there’s work in London.” Mary Ann’s voice was a thin thread. The baby cried silently as he worked his face against Henrietta’s arm. “I said I’d do anything. Scullery maid. Sweep stables. But no one’ll take me with a belly full.” Mary Ann tried to keep her expression hard, but Henrietta saw fresh tears gathering in her eyes.
“I tole’m what’d happen to me if I go back, but it’s policy to send folk to their home parishes. The master said ’e don’t care where I get off the cart, so long as I don’t put a burden on their poor rolls. But there ain’t work in the other villages, not from those who know me. I dunno what I’m to do.”
Henrietta drew a handkerchief from her box and handed it to Mary Ann, then withdrew a packet of thick, creamy calling cards. “Here’s what we will do. Have you heard of this place?”
The girl looked at the card with polite interest. “Can’t read, mum.”
“Oh. Well, it is a hospital for women and children in distressed circumstances, run by the Sisters of Benevolence. I will take you there. We will find you a bed and food and proper clothing, and Elijah will stay with you.”
Mary Ann looked with wide eyes from Henrietta’s face to the infant in her arms. “But why would they help me, mum?”
“Because you are in need of it,” Henrietta said. “Take Elijah and gather your things, Mary Ann. I will tell the nurse we are leaving.”
As Mary Ann took the infant, he stiffened, arched in her arms, and then puked down the front of his mother’s soiled dress. The girl sighed and dabbed at the thin line of undigested gruel with the handkerchief Henrietta had given her. The baby gave a soft, mewling wail.
Darien leaned against the far wall, empty boxes at his feet. John and James diced with a set of bones, but Darien watched her. Even across the room, Henrietta felt his gaze as she would a touch.
She put up her chin and marched to the ward nurse, exhilarated at the thought that, finally, she could do more than offer a blanket or a carriage. She could do something to alter the course of this girl’s life, and that of her child.
But this workhouse was not in any of the northern places where the Wardley-Hines name held cachet. The porter summoned the master, and the master held adamant that it was against the rules for Mary Ann to leave anywhere but back to her home parish. He was eager for her to cease being a burden on Marylebone, but he had to account to a commission for anyone in his care, and private citizens could not liberate workhouse residents at their whim.
“Why should it matter where she goes as long as she is leaving?” Henrietta argued. “You will have one less person to deal with. Two, actually.”
But no mere woman was going to budge the master from his duty. He and the porter seemed immune to the name Sir Jasper Wardley-Hines. At the name Sir Pelton Pomeroy, the master gave a gravelly, condescending laugh. She was about to invoke the Earl of Warrefield when Lord Darien unfolded himself from the wall and crossed the room.
He looked the elegant, bored aristocrat from the top of his sleek head to the heels of his polished boots. He stood next to her as though he had every right to be there, as if Henrietta belonged at his side.
“Miss Wardley-Hines,” he drawled in a careless tone, “let us have a word here, man to man.”
The porter nodded with respect, and the master swiftly reconsidered his stance. Lord Daring couldn’t be bothered with such things as rules and policies. Henrietta collected her boxes, seething. She would go to Hines House and speak with Jasper, then call on Sir Pelton and explain the situation to him, and then?—
“Gather your kit,” Darien said, strolling up a short minute later. “We are leaving.”
“I cannot leave Mary Ann here,” Henrietta said. “If I cannot bring her with me, then?—”
“We areallleaving,” said the bored aristocrat. “Now. You, Long John,” he called to the footman, “go find your mate. And you, Jack o’ Legs,” he addressed James, who glowered back at him, “find the coach. I do not care to spend another minute in this hellhole. The stench will never come out of my coat.”
