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“Can I ride ’em?”
“What, all at once?”
The boy crowed in delight.
“You ever seen a lion, mister? A real one, I mean, not one o’ them stone ones.”
“I believe there is one in the zoo. Surely you don’t intend to ride a lion as well as my horses?”
“Naw! I can ride a stone one, though. There’s one inside Candlewood. I’ll show you if you like.”
“Thank you, but I prefer to ride horses. Very unadventurous of me, I know.”
The boy
chuckled, his eyes dancing. “You’re funny, mister.”
“Eddie! Have you been visiting the forbidden part of the house? You know it is dangerous in there.”
Seeing the look of disapproval on the Beatty sisters’ faces, Eddie bowed his head. But Oliver noticed that his smile was still there, and he thought that was a good sign both for the character of the boy and the child-rearing skills of the Beattys. He had grown up without a great many restrictions, almost an orphan himself, although his rackety father had still been alive then. Aunt Marsh and his grandfather had been his real parents, and Anthony the older brother, watching over him.
Who had been there to watch over Anthony, the night he died?
“Lord Montegomery, will you take tea?” Miss Susan was giving him an apprehensive smile.
Vivianna answered with, “Of course he will, won’t you, my lord?” She didn’t quite look him in the eye.
“Only if there is gingerbread with it,” he said, pretending not to notice how the children were hanging on his every word. Eddie in particular was standing very close to him, and Oliver resisted an urge to check to see if his pocket watch was still tucked safely into his waistcoat pocket. Some of the little boys and girls were as old as ten, and others no more than toddlers. One little girl of five or six clung to a rag doll and peered at him under her too-big mobcap. He smiled at her, and had the satisfaction of seeing a shy gleam in her eyes.
“That is Ellen,” Miss Susan murmured, nodding at the little girl with the shy eyes. She leaned closer, so that the child could not overhear. “Her mother sold her to a brothel. Some people believe that the use of an unsullied child will cure syphilis.”
Oliver blinked, and knew his face had gone pale. This was not new to him; he knew such things happened. But to see the girl before him…it made him uneasy. It made a difference.
“She is unhurt,” Miss Susan went on, as if she were discussing something quite normal to her world—Oliver supposed that such stories were normal to this respectable, middle-aged spinster. “One of the other girls in the brothel was kind enough to smuggle the child out to us. I have nothing against such places, Lord Montegomery, if both parties wish to participate in them, but the selling of children…I cannot allow that.”
“What about the boy…Eddie?”
Miss Susan smiled. “He’s a scamp, isn’t he? Eddie’s father left him to be looked after by a lady friend. She treated him unkindly, and he ran away and lived on the streets, fending for himself. He’s a good little thief, is Eddie, but we’re hoping to find something more rewarding for him to do.”
Miss Greta was on his other side, and attached herself to his arm—to keep him from escaping?—as they walked toward the house.
“Did you know, Lord Montegomery, that there are no schools for the poor, other than those funded by the church or charity? The government does not consider it necessary to educate children like these.”
“Surely the 1834 Poor Law—”
“Yes, the Poor Law.” Miss Greta’s mouth pursed. “People without means were once supported in their own parishes. Now they are herded into workhouses, or else they starve. Families, my lord, are split asunder.”
“I did not realize—”
“Workhouses are machines, Lord Montegomery. They are factories. All the inmates wear the same clothing and eat at the same time every day. Their days are structured. There is no place for individuality. Here at the shelter we celebrate individuality!”
“So I see—”
“The children at our shelter learn reading, writing, arithmetic, and spelling; these subjects are all important. But we also aim to teach them more than the basics. There is music—we have a pianoforte and hope to purchase some other instruments—a little French, and dancing. And of course cooking and needlework for the girls. We have found that some of the more respectable men in the village are willing to teach the boys the rudimentary skills of their trades. I do think boys benefit from a more masculine approach. It is a pity that we do not have horses here. I have heard there is a great demand for grooms, stable lads, coach drivers, and the like. Eddie, in particular, is very fond of horses.”
Both sisters were eyeing Oliver expectantly, as if he should instantly agree to offer classes in horse riding. No wonder they had so many people helping them—no one dared tell them no!
“I am amazed,” Oliver said, and was.
