Yet here she was, sitting at the grand table in the family dining room, doing her best to appear polite and acquiescent to her hosts. His Royal Pomposity had yet to make an appearance and the atmosphere was awkward, to say the least, while they all waited until the clock chimed seven and he would miraculously appear. Amelia would not put it past him to be loitering outside in the hallway, pocket watch in his hand, waiting for the precise moment to stride in. He was such a stickler for correct form that to deviate from exactly seven o’clock might cause him to have some kind of seizure.
As the first chimes tinkled the hour, it seemed that they collectively held their breath and made a concerted effort not to look at the door. True to form, he strode in, issued a formal ‘Good evening’ to one and all and took his place at the head of the table. The well-trained servants immediately began busying themselves with tureens, while Amelia looked at her hands.
Once the soup was served, they ate in silence until Sir George was brave enough to break the tension. ‘Well, if nobody else is going to speak, I might as well start. First of all, let me say how relieved we all are that you came to no serious harm today, Amelia. Bennett has told us that you were accosted by three scoundrels and I am very pleased that he was there to assist you. We all now know that you regularly help the poor, which is admirable, and that you were unfortunate enough to have had to experience life there first-hand. But, if I may be so bold, I should like to ask the question that we are all aching to know the answer to. How did you come to be living alone in Seven Dials in the first place?’
The soup in her mouth suddenly turned to dust and she glanced up at Lady Worsted to see if she could find any guidance on how much to tell. Finding nothing in her employer’s face that would help, Amelia put down her spoon. Lying would be pointless. It would not take a great deal of investigation for the powerful Duke or his wealthy family to uncover the truth.
‘My mother became very ill and I had to care for her. When our money ran out we could no longer afford to stay in our house in Cheapside. The only place that we could afford was Seven Dials. When my mother died I stayed there until I could better myself.’
Fortunately, nobody probed further because they were all horrified by her sanitised version of events. In truth, Viscount Venomous had refused to continue his meagre financial support the moment he had secured an annulment from her mother. After that, it was as if they had ceased to exist in his mind. With no income, they had been turfed out of their tiny apartment in Cheapside and Amelia had been forced, at the tender age of seventeen, to take employment wherever she could.
With her mother’s failing health, permanent employment had been impossible. She’d never known when she would be needed to nurse her, so Amelia had taken casual work to help pay for their awful room in a boarding house. When the consumption got so bad that Amelia could scarcely leave her mother’s bedside, even that awful room had been callously removed. It had been Amelia’s idea to go to the workhouse. At least there, her mother would have a bed and proper medical attention. It made no difference that Amelia was made to do all manner of demeaning jobs inside that institution as a punishment for the terrible crime of being poor. At least her mother had a roof over her head. When she had been informed of her mother’s death, she had left that day, preferring to beg on the streets if need be than to suffer further humiliation at the hands of that inhuman institution. What would these fine people make of that? Even if she told them, she seriously doubted that they would understand.
‘How on earth did you manage on your own?’ The Dowager looked distraught on her behalf.
‘I took jobs and saved my money until I could afford something better.’ And her paltry savings had been stolen on two separate occasions. ‘I managed well enough.’ She’d come out alive. In Seven Dials, that was all you could hope for.
‘It does sound dreadful, Amelia.’ Sir George appeared sympathetic, then he winked at her when nobody was looking. ‘I am surprised that you would willingly want to go back there. What is it that draws you to that place every day?’
Bless him. He had given her an opportunity to explain calmly. The silent, pompous Duke was too well mannered to cause a scene at dinner. That would be bad for digestion.
‘My own experiences taught me that poverty is a terrible affliction that the sufferers have not chosen. Nobody decides to be poor or chooses to live in a slum. They are there because that is the only choice available to them. Fortunately, I am well educated. That opened doors to me that would normally remain firmly closed to the majority of those people, and through no fault of their own. I suppose, once you have lived through something like that, it changes you. Now that I am in the fortunate position of being able to do something to help them, I feel that I must.’
‘But surely you could do just as much good without putting yourself at risk. You could knit stockings or gloves, for example, like many charitable ladies of my acquaintance do.’
Amelia liked the Dowager and did not want to offend her, so she chose her next words carefully. ‘Whilst the poor are grateful for those things, I know that they would prefer food in their bellies. It is easier to work when you are properly fed, and then perhaps they would be able to make enough to buy the other things that they need. A roof over their heads, for example, trumps woollen stockings.’
‘Are you telling me that many of them do not even have homes?’ Now the Dowager was incredulous, as if such a thing was so far out of the realm of her understanding that she could not even conceive of it.
‘A great majority live from day to day. They work to earn enough to eat and to buy a bed for the night. Seven Dials, like all of the slums, is made up of lodging houses. The poor call them doss houses. For a few coins, they can pay to sleep on the floor of large communal rooms. While the unscrupulous landlords make a good living out of this, it makes it more difficult to be able to afford a proper room somewhere. There is more money to be made by offering nightly board. Oftentimes, many people have to resort to sleeping on the streets because they cannot afford even that. The poor become locked in a cycle that is near impossible to break.’
‘Did you have to sleep in one of those lodging houses?’
It was the first time that His Holiness had spoken and Amelia was forced to turn towards him. To her surprise, anger shimmered in his silver-blue eyes, but for once it was not directed at her. ‘On occasion,’ she admitted and saw that anger burn brighter. ‘But not for long.’ Desperation, she had discovered, made her quite resourceful.
The first course finished, they all sat quietly while the servants cleared and laid the table with the next. Perhaps sensing that the conversation was not really something that the staff should hear, Lovett then promptly dismissed them and instructed the Dowager to ring when they were finished. As soon as he pulled closed the large double doors, Sir George spoke again.
‘The picture that you paint is very dire indeed, Amelia. However, what I struggle to understand is why those poor wretches continue to have children when they do not have enough money to put food in their own stomachs. I am patron of a foundling hospital, and I can assure you that it is full to bursting. Every week another child is left on the doorstep.’
Amelia tried hard not to be annoyed by his ignorance, but it was difficult. How could he hope to understand when he had been shielded from the truth? ‘No mother willingly gives up her child, sir. Their circumstances must be very dire indeed for them to have resorted to such a thing. For many, they hand over their children in the hope that those children will have food and shelter. If it is a choice between seemingly abandoning their baby or consigning their child to death, that choice is easier to make. It is also worth stating, although it pains me to do so, that you are assuming that those women had those children willingly. Many do not have a choice in that either. There are many unscrupulous men who take advantage of poor women.’
An uncomfortable hush settled over the table as the full meaning of her words sank in. Sir George actually blushed. Both the Dowager and Lady Worsted covered their mouths in shock. The Duke’s voice was clipped as he stared pointedly at Amelia. ‘This conversation is hardly appropriate for the dinner table.’
Chapter Fifteen
Once damaged, a woman’s reputation can never be restored. If there is even the slightest whiff of anything unsavoury, she is definitely not the wife for you...
‘Mother, I wonder if we should all visit Aveley Castle at the weekend.’
His mother grasped those words with both hands, as he had known she would, and soon all attention was drawn away from Miss Mansfield’s unfortunate past and to excited preparations for a few days in the country. Bennett had changed the subject not because he had felt it unseemly, but because the images her descriptions put into his mind were making him so angry he wanted to smash something. To think of her, so young and so alone, sleeping on straw with a bunch of stinking strangers or, worse, taken advantage of by ‘unscrupulous’ men made his blood boil.
‘You will love Aveley Castle, Amelia,’ his mother gushed. ‘It is surrounded by the most beautiful parkland and, although it is not the largest of castles, it is delightfully cosy and so very peaceful. Although it might be the perfect opportunity to do some entertaining. It has been an age since we have had people visit the Castle. Do not panic, Bennett; I have no intention of subjecting you to a house party, but I would enjoy inviting a few acquaintances for afternoon tea as we are so close to town, and perhaps some horse riding.’
‘Do you ride, Amelia?’ This came from Uncle George.
His aunt answered for her. ‘It has been years since Amelia has been on a horse, hasn’t it, dear? Perhaps you could take her out, George, to refresh her memory and remind her of the skill? George taught Bennett to ride, so you will be in very safe hands.’
Bennett let the chatter wash over him. Frankly, he had too many things to think about and none of them were pleasant. Like the fact that he had been unaware that the poor might be trapped in a cycle of poverty which they were helpless to change. What good were cleaner streets if people did not even have homes? Or food? And had Miss Mansfield suffered unduly during that dreadful time? If he found out that anyone had done anything even slightly untoward, he would personally enjoy tearing them limb from limb. And how was it that absolutely everyone now called her Amelia, but he still had to call her Miss Mansfield? Or did she think him so ‘stodgy’ that he would prefer to maintain that stiff formality, even though hehadkissed her and shehadkissed him back?
