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As the head of the committee over The Asylum for Orphaned Girls, his opinion went far when any decisions had to be made. It was a position he’d been voted into many years in a row now. Lady Finch also offered her greeting. She was a quiet woman, but usually carried a pleasant expression, though sometimes she appeared to be silently fretting despite no obvious reason being present. Today, though, she seemed happy.
Seth rode up at that moment. Heavens, but it was good to see him again, even if it was among society where they wouldn’t be free to truly talk and enjoy one another’s company.
He was atop Brushfire, as was to be expected. He looked quite dapper, Charlotte had to admit, if only to herself. He wasn’t dressed in the peak of fashion as so many men of her acquaintance, but he looked dashing all the same. His simple jacket and similarly colored breeches matched his straightforward disposition.
Not too surprising, once pleasantries were done, Lord Finch dove into the topic of the asylum. Though he and Charlotte had never had much of a reason to speak outside of their committee meetings, they both shared a deep desire to protect and educate the girls in their care.
“I found the meeting last Thursday rather encouraging,” Lord Finch said in his deep voice.
As a woman, Charlotte did not usually attend herself, but sent a proxy in her place. He always reported, nearly word for word, what had taken place during the weekly meeting. However, Charlotte had chosen to attend herself yet again this week and had found it more tedious than encouraging. “Do you not think, though, that more should be done to determinewhyEmma wished to speak with Lord Windham the other day?” Charlotte had written to Emma a second time only day before last and had received a reply the next day. Emma still claimed all was well. Charlotte still felt certain it wasn’t.
Lord Finch shrugged. “He said she was having second thoughts about working for Lord Baxter, but he helped her see it truly is a good position. No more to it than that.”
Yes, Charlotte had heard Lord Windham’s explanation as well. It struck her as slightly odd that the first few times she’d tried to talk to Lord Windham about Emma, he’d only shrugged it off, never saying much of anything about their conversation.
Then, at the committee meeting only a few days ago, he’d suddenly started telling people this new version of events—that Emma hadn’t been sure about her position, and he’d assuaged her concerns.
It didn’t exactly disagree with what Lord Windham had said that first week, but it did seem strange to Charlotte that he hadn’t said so from the beginning.
Moreover, if that was what truly had happened, then why would Mrs. Lewis report that Emma seemedmoreupset when leaving than upon arriving? Charlotte had brought that up during their last meeting, but everyone agreed that Mrs. Lewis must have been mistaken.
Or that Charlotte had been mistaken regarding what Mrs. Lewis meant in her letter.
“I still worry about the young woman,” Charlotte confessed.
She shared a look with Seth—he clearly agreed with her.
Lord Finch, however, only shook his head. “I think it’s normal for a girl to find herself struggling to adjust to a new household every now and then. That, plus losing a well-respected teacher at the asylum...running such an organization can feel like rather a bit much from time to time, can it not?”
“What?” Charlotte scooted forward in her seat. “We’ve lost a teacher? Why was I not told of this?”
Lord Finch pulled his lips to the side. “Certain individuals felt you’d been imposed upon enough and were disinclined to bother you regarding finding a replacement.”
Charlotte couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She looked from Lord Finch to Seth. He seemed to be thinking the same thing she was. The committee wasn’t concerned over asking too much of Charlotte. The problem was they weren’t convinced her opinions could be trusted. Her and Seth’s efforts this past week were not yet making any difference in the committee’s treatment of her.
“You know the welfare of any of the girls is never an imposition,” Charlotte said emphatically. How could the committeestillbe working to push her out?
Lord Finch’s grimace made him appear sympathetic. But Charlotte was growing less and less certain of who she could depend upon among the committee. His grimace may be because he understood she was being steadily forced out of a position to help make decisions and felt bad for her. It could also have been that he was one of those forcing her aside, and in having to speak of it to her face, he felt a momentary pang of guilt.
She wasn’t sure at all anymore.
But she couldn’t say any of that out loud. Instead, she took a steadying breath. “Well, I understand there are still a few other girls who will need positions soon. I could start making inquiries for one of them.”
“I have several friends who are coming to London soon and are in need of maids,” Susan jumped in.
“Yes,” Charlotte said, “we shall be visiting much these next few months and will be in a position to learn which homes are in need.”
Lord Finch’s grimace didn’t ease. The look caused Charlotte’s heart to sink yet further.
“I believe,” he said slowly, “that all girls who will be needing work soon are already being taken care of.”
Charlotte drew herself up, glancing once more toward Seth—she was in need of his calming support just now—before turning to Lord Finch again. “Then if we are losing a teacher, I would be happy to start making inquiries about a replacement.”
Still, his grimace didn’t soothe. “I believe Mrs. Brown has taken that task on herself.”
Mrs. Brown? Charlotte had nothing against the woman in general. But she was always petitioning the committee to make the girls work more hours a day, and she didn’t believe anything beyond gruel and potatoes were necessary for their food. The woman had good ideas on how to better stretch the asylum funds from time to time, but having her choose the next teacher would not be a good idea.
But she couldn’t come directly out and say as much. Tact was needed. Sometimes being a respected member of society proved rather tricky.
