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Delphine furrowed her brow and shook her head.
“I don’t know, Your Grace. But I still don’t understand. Why would Alice come to an orphanage?” Delphine asked.
Jackson was standing at the desk of a Mr. Lionel Haltwhistle, Governor of the Saint Swithun’s Orphanage in Paxford. It was one on a long list of establishments he had decreed they would visit in their search for Eloise’s sister. They had spent the previous days examining orphanage ledgers in every corner of the southeast of England. Jackson was looking for the name of Alice, and whilst he had found many matching names, none of them had been recalled as the Alice he was looking for.
“Because she’s not his daughter, that’s why. I’ve explained it a dozen times, Delphine. I’m certain of it. That’s why he got rid of her. Viscount Snowden would hardly be the first aristocrat to have an illegitimate child, would he? But imagine the scandal. There’s always a scandal with these things. The child grows up, she resembles no one in the family, suspicions are raised, and perhaps the mother herself makes contact, a threat of blackmail. He sent the child away, hid her in an orphanage, quietly forgetting her, whilst encouraging her sister not to go looking for her,” Jackson explained.
He was convinced this was the truth, even as he had no evidence to prove it yet. Arthur Dobson’s investigations had run on similar lines, but neither he nor Jackson and Delphine had uncovered what they were looking for.
“But what has become of her now? She can’t still be in the orphanage, can she? That’s what I don’t understand, Your Grace.”
Jackson closed the ledger and smiled at her. Delphine had been the most faithful of companions in his search for Eloise’s sister. There was no doubting her loyalty to her mistress, and he had been grateful for her company as they crisscrossed the highways and byways of London and its environs.
“That, Delphine, I don’t know. We look for a lead in these ledgers, but where Alice is, well, that’s going to take a little more work.” He sighed.
The orphanage governor had been standing to one side, watching as Jackson examined the ledgers. He cleared his throat, and Jackson looked across at him, having almost forgotten he was there.
“There’s another orphanage near here, Your Grace. Wingate Towers. It’s out in the countryside, a strange place,” he said, and Jackson looked at him curiously.
“Strange? How so?” he asked, and the clergyman smiled.
“Well, we here at Saint Swithun’s place a great emphasis on work and labor. A working child is a useful child. But at Wingate Towers, they try to teach them reading, writing … that sort of thing.”
“Heaven forfends we should teach children how to read and write.” Jackson was annoyed.
He had encountered several similar types like Mr. Haltwhistle in his search for Alice, men for whom orphans were a mere unfortunate burden, one to be rid of as soon as possible.
“You’ll see for yourself, Your Grace. Our methods are far more preferable,” he said.
Jackson nodded. He had heard enough. As it happened, he already knew of Wingate Towers. It was the last orphanage on his list, but his hopes of discovering the whereabouts of Alice were growing dimmer with every orphanage he visited. He had checked every ledger and asked questions of every governor and matron, but to no avail. There were plenty of Alices, but they were either too old or too young, with black or blonde hair, never red, as Jackson knew Alice’s hair to be. Alice was a mystery, one that was becoming ever more unlikely to solve.
“Well, Mr. Haltwhistle. I thank you for your time.” Jackson shook the orphanage governor’s hand.
They stepped out of the governor’s office and down a long corridor leading to the hallway of the orphanage. A line of children filed past them, their heads bowed. Jackson could not help but feel sorry for them, and it astonished him to think of Eloise’s father inflicting such cruelty on his own daughter. To send her to such a place was disconcerting.
“To Wingate Towers, Your Grace?” Delphine asked as they climbed into the carriage.
“To Wingate Towers, yes, and we’ll see what we can find,” Jackson replied.
They were on the edge of the city now, and the urban sprawl had given way to farmland stretching out towards the horizon. It was a bright, sunny day, and whilst autumn was not far off, the warmth of the summer remained in the air. Wingate Towers lay amidst woodland on the curve of a river. It was a handsome house, surrounded by a large vegetable garden. As the carriage rolled up to the front door, Jackson could see the orphans working diligently in the garden.
“I think I prefer it already,” Delphine muttered as they climbed out.
“It’s quite a remarkable sight, isn’t it? Orphanages are usually such grim places. Misery stalks them. But here…” Jackson trailed off, gazing around him approvingly as a steward hurried to greet them.
“Can I help you, Sir? We’re about to ring the bell for luncheon,” he said, smiling at Jackson, who nodded.
“Ah, yes, it’s an unusual request. I’m looking for someone… someone I don’t even know was here,” he began, and he explained to the steward what he was looking for.
As they were talking, a bell rang and the children in the garden laid down their tools and hurried to form two lines in front of the orphanage. These were not drab, miserable orphans, but smiling, happy children, who laughed and joked with one another as a smiling matron came to lead them into luncheon.
“I’m sure we can help you, Your Grace,” the steward said after Jackson had finished explaining the situation.
“Do you remember her? Alice, I mean?” Jackson asked.
“You’ll have to ask Reverend Drake, Your Grace. He founded Wingate Towers twenty years ago. He knows every child who was under his care. Come this way, I’ll show you in.”
He led them through a large set of oak doors into a brightly lit hallway, where the sun streamed through a stained-glass window above, depicting the story of the Good Samaritan. A doorway to the left led into a large dining hall where the chatter of children could be heard along with the clink of cutlery and glass.
