Page 53 of The Tartan Trap

Margaret was telling the truth. Mrs. Fuller was so thankful that Margaret often went away feeling more guilty than if she’d done nothing. In her mind, the gratitude she received was out of proportion for the efforts she’d made. It prodded at her as surely as if a broomstick had been pressed against her back; it made her want to do more to be worthy of such admiration.

Mrs. Fuller swallowed and appeared to choose her words carefully. It was a marked change from her initial burst of enthusiasm. “You know that we have long had difficulty with our building. Despite the refurbishments and repairs, it is…listing.”

Margaret nodded. Mrs. Fuller’s words were no surprise to her. It seemed an impossible problem—a problem that would persist right along with the building itself. Margaret flushed, suddenly embarrassed that she’d thought a fresh layer of paint a priority.

“Not that we don’t appreciate everything you and others have done,” the woman rushed to add, her eyes wide.

“Of course.” She shook her head. “I’m only sorry I wasn’t in the position to do more. I’m glad St. Alban’s has a new patron. There’s no other house more deserving.”

Mrs. Fuller nearly sagged in her relief. “I’m so very happy to hear you say it. It was the only possibility that marred my perfect happiness—the idea that you might be offended.”

“Not at all. I’m only impatient for you to tell me the whole of it, so that I might rejoice with you.”

“St. Alban’s new patron has purchased the lot next door. He’s building the orphanage an entirely new building—rightly done, in stone and thick timber—twice as large and far more well-appointed than this one.”

It was stunning news. This part of town never seemed to draw anyone’s eye. It was too far from the good part of town to be convenient. Though the need here was greatest, patrons often preferred to be able to drive past the good they did when fancy struck. It would certainly be difficult for anyone to feel accomplished when driving past the leaning building of St. Alban’s.

“I saw the gentleman myself when he came to inspect the footings last week, though of course we weren’t introduced. Such a tall and handsome man you’ve never seen before, Miss! Not that such a thing is important, mind you, but it does make one happy to see that such a patron is so young and likely not to forget the charity in which he’s dedicated so much of his funds to.”

A sneaking suspicion itched at the back of Margaret’s neck. “When was the purchase made?”

Mrs. Fuller named a date a full week before the Season had started.

Margaret’s shoulders relaxed and the first real smile flitted over her features. “How wonderful. Whoever the gentleman is, he couldn’t have bestowed his charity on a more deserving recipient than St. Alban’s.”

“I wasn’t supposed to overhear, perhaps, but they said the building should be finished within a matter of months, before the gentleman returns to his home in Morley.”

Margaret relaxed completely then. Morley was a village north of London, but nowhere near Scotland. For a moment, she’d suspected that the Duke of Ettrick had somehow found out her connection to this place and…

And what, Margaret? the voice within her sniped. You think a gentleman like that would truly make such an extravagant gesture for someone like you?

Margaret shook her head to rid herself of the voice; it would wax eloquent as long as she’d allow it.

“I’m so glad,” Margaret said as heartily as possible, to dispel any disquiet her moment of pause had given. “I cannot wait to see the improvements. You must let me know if you need assistance furnishing the place.”

“Oh, no,” Mrs. Fuller said, her eyes wide with wonder again. “The gentlemen is to take care of everything. Orders have already been placed for matching single beds for both the girls’s and the boys’s dormitories. Can you imagine? We’re to have real dormitories and proper separation. Why, Mr. Thurgood and I won’t have to sit upright in chairs watching over our charges all night to ensure safety and decorum.”

It took Margaret nearly half an hour to disengage from the grateful effusions of Mrs. Fuller, by which time Margaret was tired of smiling and saying pleasant things, but exceedingly curious about the structure itself. She waved off the footman, who already had the steps on the carriage let down, and informed him she wished to take a quick walk around the block.

This statement was met with a deep frown and consternation. It wasn’t a good neighborhood by any stretch of the imagination. A silent compromise was reached—one of the footmen would walk behind her, alongside her maid, for protection.

Margaret set off down the street at a quick pace, admiring the speed with which the new building was being erected. Even in the time she’d been inside the orphanage, the wall had grown measurably taller. One of the boys she recognized spotted her; he grinned and gave a hearty wave.

Margaret nodded back and wondered at his neat appearance. He wore a pair of sturdy new boots and a set of clothes that, except for the dust of his current duties, appeared relatively clean. She sought out the other boy and found him in the same condition. Perhaps the new patron had extended his generosity to the boys personally; she could think of no other explanation.

She passed the largest section of wall, the one that faced the street adjacent to the current orphanage. Margaret was pleased and a bit amazed to see the number of windowsills that had already been blocked off. Glazing was seen as a rare luxury in this part of town—the idea of giving such a building to orphans would raise many an eyebrow.

Margaret turned the corner. She was now to the rear of the church and the current orphanage, but the new building spanned the width of the entire block. From Mrs. Fuller’s raptures, Margaret knew that there was to be a large courtyard kitchen garden, with a greenhouse tucked in the corner. It was their new patron’s desire that no child would leave the walls of St. Alban’s without learning some sort of trade or skill that could assist them in finding employment.

Margaret shook her head, half in amazement that a man of such vision and generosity had happened across St. Alban’s, half in regret that she hadn’t been able to do more herself. It was a persistent problem—the lack of a solid future available to these children—but one that had been out of her reach to solve.

Margaret walked to the end of the building and inspected the corner. She was just about to turn back when a small snuffling noise caught her attention. Tucked into the shade of the half-built wall behind some construction rubble was a small brown dog. He was thin, his ribs visible beneath his matted, grimy fur.

Everything about the dog should have repulsed her, but for some reason, Margaret was compelled to draw closer. Then his large brown eyes met hers. His tail thumped, raising a plume of dust. She was done for.

“Do you belong to someone?” she murmured.

Even as she asked, she could see the truth of it—the little dog was a stray. Strays were often vicious, dangerous creatures, but there was no warning growl, no baring of teeth. Margaret squatted and reached out her hand.