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When the jarvey announced they had reached their destination, Helena promised herself that someday soon, she would slip out on her own and explore the teeming diversity that was London. But now, to find a maid.
After paying the jarvey to wait for them, she set off, Molly at her heels. But the girl stopped short as she looked up at the large building fronting Paddington Street. "Miss, you sure the address is right? This be the St. Marylebone workhouse."
"Then my directions were correct," Helena replied, pleased at her navigation skills.
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The maid planted her feet, her eyes widening. "You mean to..
.go in? Whatever for, miss? 'Tis naught but a bunch of paupers and thieves, half of 'em stricken with awful diseases! If you wish to contribute to the poor relief, better you do it at St. George's vestry."
"I mean to contribute—by offering employment," Helena replied. "I need a maid. Since the inmates of this place are looking
for work, I imagine I can find one."
"Oh, you're bamming me!" Molly said, relief in her voice.
"Baxtor said you was wanting a maid. Harrison will find you one from Mr. McClaren's agency...."
As Helena shook her head gently, Molly's words trailed off.
"Oh, miss, you cannot be thinking to hire someone outta there!
We could all be murdered in our beds!"
"Molly, the workhouse isn't a prison for cutthroats, nor what I believe you call a 'flash house,' where young criminals gather. I had it from the lips of a clergyman serving on the Board of Directors of the Poor for St. Marylebone that in their workhouse the unfortunates of the parish are trained for useful employment.
Father Roberts said St. Marylebone is a model institution."
Helena omitted mentioning that she'd overheard this information in a conversation on the mail coach between the reverend and a passenger with views similar to Molly's. "Is not offering one such deserving girl a chance to better herself more desirable than putting coins in the poor box?"
"No disrespect to Father Roberts, but the poor box be a heap safer," Molly muttered.
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"I shall be very careful," Helena promised. "If no one seems suitable, I can send Harrison to the agency. But now that we are here, I will take a look." And unless the reverend had perjured himself irredeemably, she would hire someone. Perhaps a girl as eager to escape her prison of poverty as Helena had been to leave Lambarth Castle.
"Had I known you was coming here, I'd not have agreed to bring you," Molly retorted, reluctantly trudging after Helena.
"Iff'n the master finds out I led you to such a place, he'll turn me off for sure."
Would Lord Darnell be concerned if he thought she'd been placed in danger? Helena wondered, distracted by recalling the intent gaze he'd fixed upon her in the lawyer's office.
Then the stooped old man at the door asked them their business, took their cloaks and led them to the director's office.
That official questioned Helena closely about her purpose and background before summoning a child to guide them to Mrs.
Smith, the inmate who supervised the instruction of the older girls.
After passing through a large room filled with emaciated, bedridden adults their young escort cheerfully informed them were "the bad sick who'll likely die," they entered the girls' ward.
Here, the floor was newly swept, the rows of beds neatly made and thankfully empty.
The child led them onto the porch. A thin woman of indeterminate age, a clean but ragged shawl wrapped about her, stood supervising the work of a number of girls bent over washtubs or hanging linen on drying racks.
106 THE UNTAMED HEIRESS
Mrs. Smith looked up. "Ladies, may I help you? 'Tis laundry day, as you see. The girls earn a few pence while learning to wash and iron. Are you from the parish?"
"No, ma'am," Helena replied. "I am Helena Lambarth and this is Molly. We reside with my aunt, Lady Darnell, in St. James
Square. I'm newly arrived in London and wish to hire one of your girls as my personal maid."
The thin woman's smile brightened. "I imagine any one of them would jump at the chance of such employment."
"I should like to watch them for a while, if I may."
"Stroll with me. The girls will continue working, assuming as I did that you're from the parish committee."
While Molly waited on the porch, Helena walked around the courtyard with Mrs. Smith, observing how some of the girls lounged about, not returning to their tasks until Mrs. Smith drew near: Her attention was drawn to a tall girl who ignored the visitors and continued her scrubbing, a boy beside her handing her linens and soap as needed.
"Who is that girl?" she asked Mrs. Smith.
"Nell Hastings, with her brother Dickon," the woman replied.
"Her father, a soldier, died at Waterloo. Her mother took in laundry, but worn down by grief and overwork, she, too, died last winter. Nell's a fine girl, but she won't do for you. She's determined to keep what's left of her family together. I doubt she would consider employment that would take her away and leave Dickon here."
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"Let me speak with her anyway," Helena said, already beginning to wonder how she might hire the brother, as well.
Mrs. Smith called the girl over. Helena watched approvingly
as Nell walked to them, her manner neither hurried nor ingratiating. "How can I help you, ma'am?"
"The lady wants to talk to you," Mrs. Smith told her. "Excuse me, miss, while I see to the other girls."
"You want to hire out washing, miss?" Nell asked as Helena walked her back to her washtub. "We launder and mend fine garments. Our rate is quite reasonable."
"Can you embroider and alter gowns, as well?"
"Yes, ma'am. Madame Beaumont's dress shop in Mayfair sends me work when they have too many orders to finish."
"Your father was a soldier?"
A shadow of sadness passed over the girl's face. "Yes, ma'am.
Papa was a sergeant in the Ninety-fifth Rifles. He died last summer, and Mama after him."
"Why did you not seek shelter with other family?"
"Mama and Papa's kin live up north—I don't know where. It seemed best to stay in London and hope for work here."
Her decision all but made, Helena nodded. "Thank you, Nell. I must discuss the matter with Mrs. Smith."
"Yes, ma'am." Nell curtseyed and went back to her scrubbing.
When she began questioning Nell, Helena had set the coin
purse from her reticule on the bench beside the girl's washtub.
Leaving the purse, she sought out Mrs. Smith.
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"I wish all the girls were as diligent as Nell," the matron said.
"Some, I'm afraid, want only to sneak off to the main building where the boys stay. Then there's Jane." She indicated a thin girl with a vacant expression. "A sweet child, but not.. .all there."
While Mrs. Smith spoke, Helena covertly watched Nell. A moment later, as the girl wiped her hands, her brother gathered up Helena's purse and the two walked toward her.
"Miss, you left this. Dickon, return it to her, please."
With evident reluctance, the brother handed it over. "You kin count it iff'n you like, but 'tis all there."
"Thank you," Helena said. "I'm sure it's all there."
"Told ya we couldda kept a coin," the boy muttered.
"No, Dickon. 'Twould not be honest. You know that."
Though the dress the seamstress had brought Helena at the lawyer's office was unadorned, the material and workmanship proclaimed its quality. After looking Helena up and down, the boy said, "She's rich enough not to miss a copper. I couldda bought us apples on the street."
"Where you should not go anyway!" Her face coloring, Nell explained, "Dickon chafes at my keeping him here with the
girls—but I'm afraid of what he learns from the boys."
"Whereas you possess the finest of scruples," Helena said, pleased the girl had passed her little test. "Nell, I need a lady's maid. Would you like the position?"
The girl's eyes widened. "You mean, work for you, 109
miss? Oh, yes! But...would I have to live at your house?"
A moment's reflection told Helena she could not keep the girl's origins secret if Nell traveled back and forth from the workhouse.
"Yes, that would be necessary."
"Take it, Nell," the boy urged. "I kin take care of m'self."
Clearly distressed, Nell looked from Helena to her brother. "I should love the job but.. .but I promised Mama we would stay together. I can't leave Dickon here alone."
Interrupting the boy's protest that he was old enough to fend for himself, Helena said, "If I promise to find a place for him, too, would you accept the job?"
Nell's face cleared. "We would both live at your house? Oh, that would be wonderful!"
"Excellent. You shall start tomorrow. Report to the kitchen and ask for Molly." Helena pointed to the maid waiting on the porch, who offered Nell a halfhearted wave. "I will find a place for Dickon within the week."
"Thank you, miss!" Nell cried. "We'll work hard and not disappoint you, won't we, Dickon?"
From the boy's mutinous face Helena gathered he would prefer to remain at the workhouse, where he might run with his fellows without his sister's close supervi sion. "Master Dickon, what sort of work would you like?"
