Page 19 of When We Touch

“No, no, we’re done for the day,” Mireau said.

“Good-bye, Father. I’ll see you in another two weeks,” Maggie said.

“Perhaps you’ll need to reschedule. You’ll be on your honeymoon,” Jamie reminded her. “And I’m sure that the church and the Salvation Army will understand your eagerness to spend special time with your new husband.”

She wondered how anyone could make such innocuous words sound so . . . sexual.

“I’ll get word to you,” she said sweetly to Father Vickers.

Jamie had a firm grip on her elbow. They moved beyond the enclosure and out to the street where Darby was waiting with a Langdon carriage. She wasn’t sure if she was helped in or shoved in. Mireau quickly followed, and Jamie after him.

She faced Jamie.

“Interesting speech,” he said.

“A necessary speech,” she returned.

“Hardly the usual Friday afternoon for a lady,” he commented.

“I’m sorry if you don’t approve,” she returned.

She was startled by his reply. “I didn’t say that I didn’t approve. I found your words to the poor creatures to be practical in the extreme.”

There were shadows in the carriage. She couldn’t tell if he was speaking truthfully or not.

She looked out the window.

“I’m not terribly sure that Charles would be happy if you were to introduce his daughter to this particular aspect of good works,” Jamie said.

“What I do here is my choice, and my volition, though I’d not suggest it for anyone else, and certainly not Lord Charles’s daughter. And is she not returning to her school in France after the wedding?” Maggie said.

“She will come of age shortly and intends to spend time in London. Lord Charles is anxious to see her wed.” He glanced away. “He has certain definite intentions for her, and therefore, he wishes to see her remain in England.”

Certain intentions? Maggie wondered if, despite the fact that they were second cousins once removed, Charles didn’t intend to marry his daughter to his brother’s grandson. She wasn’t sure just what the religious and civil laws were now on such an association, but the royal family had been known to allow marriages with much closer associations.

She turned away, watching as the carriage brought them from the underbelly of London slowly back to the world of the living. As she looked out the window, Maggie marveled anew that the streets could go from such seediness and poverty to respectability and even opulence so quickly. It really wasn’t far at all. And yet, there was a world of difference.

The great walls of the Tower rose before them. Soon, they’d be back.

She stared at Jamie Langdon again. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of bringing Arianna here.”

“She never suggested that I should come with her,” Mireau offered, as always, trying to keep the situation calm. “I’m happy to accompany her. Then again, I knew the area. I came often with Nathan, her husband . . . her late husband. Well, you know, Dickens loved to come down here. Naturally, you can see it in his writing. There’s so much grist for the mill, you know. And actually, once the area thrived. The Flemish weavers who moved here created the finest cloth imaginable. The world has taken such a turn with industry and science! Things change . . . and sometimes, they get worse. Well, maybe it seems that they often get worse. But the problem is, really, even with great writers like Dickens telling the world about the East End, no one really wants to see. Or if they see, they don’t know what to do. But every little bit helps, of course.”

Mireau suddenly seemed to realize that he was babbling. They were both just staring at him. “Well, you know, the little bit that Maggie can do helps tremendously. All right, so no one person could really end the poverty for the tens of thousands living in such squalor, but . . . and, of course, a lot of it is because immigration is so very heavy, and jobs can be scarce, and many people don’t want to employ foreigners when there are so many English out of work . . . well . . . you know, the thing of it is, there are families in the East End, and there are legitimate shops and many people there try desperately hard to make an income. Sadly, the English way out of a problem is often a gin bottle. And you mix alcohol with ignorance and desperation, and naturally, you have burglary, violence, rape . . . murder. Of course, today, Father Vickers was speaking about something entirely different. Something truly horrible beyond conception. Surely, of course, such a madman will be apprehended. Though he was telling me more about it when you were speaking, Maggie. They’re not sure if this recent murder is associated with two others that occurred not long ago. Nothing, however, has been this horrid, this . . . this insane! And he’s right, of course. Should anyone of wealth ever be killed with such savagery, such butchery . . .”

He broke off suddenly, realizing that he wasn’t helping Maggie’s position at all.

“Did you do this while your husband was alive?” Jamie asked her pointedly.

“No,” she admitted stiffly.

“Um,” he murmured.

“And what does that mean?” she demanded.

“It means that he’d have kept you from coming here.”

“Why on earth would he do so? He was a great champion of the poor!” Maggie said indignantly.