“It is only for tonight,” she replied. “As for the other nights, we shall cross that bridge when we get to it, and in the meantime, we shall be grateful to my friend, the Earl of Trowbridge, for providing for us on this occasion.”
She glanced at him. He felt a little awkward, being in the spotlight in this manner. And that awkwardness only made him more endearing, as if he had nothing in common with the boy she had known half her life, growing up in the late earl’s household. This man was not that spoiled boy who wanted everything done his way, who was jealous when someone else received attention that was initially reserved solely for him. This was a more mature person, someone who perhaps had finally seen the depths of depravity around him, which he kept his eyes closed to his entire life. She could only hope such a miracle was possible.
Suddenly, that same boy was lowered down from the arms of the other boy, and he made his way through the crowd, finally reaching Alexander. He stopped right in front of him, the dichotomy between the two of them as noticeable as night and day, black and white, as lies and truth. The little boy’s trouser legs were uneven, one torn shorter, while the other was rolled up twice, so it wouldn’t fall over his shoes, which also didn’t seem to be the right size for his little foot. His shirt was buttoned up, and perhaps it was once light grey in color, but now, Marjorie could notice all sorts of stains on it, which would probably never be washed off. Her heart ached just looking at his soot smeared face, the black dirt underneath his fingernails which were bitten all the way to the nerves.
But the boy seemed oblivious to her pain, and instead, lifted his little face to the man who had just provided him with a warm bed, and offered him his hand.
“Earl of Cowbridge… thank you.”
His little voice was soft but determined. It was strong. There was not a single weak note in it. No one even blinked that he mispronounced the earl’s name. Everyone admired his bravery, his sweet, childish innocence.
It took Alexander a moment to regain his senses. His lips widened into a respectful smile, and his hand gripped at the little boy’s. “It is my pleasure, young man.”
Then, one by one, voices started to say the same phrase, joining in, merging into one angelic choir.Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Marjorie felt an onslaught of tears which she tried to blink away. Alexander cleared his throat a little once the grateful choir had died down. She was painfully aware of his presence, now more so than ever, when she had seen a different side to him, one she never even knew existed.
“Yes… well… you are all very welcome,” he managed to muster, overwhelmed by what just happened. So, Marjorie thought he might use a little bit of help.
“All right then,” she clapped just once, to get everyone’s attention back on the matter at hand. “Let us see how many of us are there. One, two, three…” she started counting, until she reached number seven and twenty. Of that number, one was a baby, fifteen were children under the age of ten, and the rest were between ten and fifteen. She needed to separate them into rooms, boys with boys and girls with girls of their own age. That would be best.
She went and pinpointed small groups of four, then proceeded to lead them to all the rooms on that floor. Alexander had rented out every single available room in the inn, which meant that there would be more than enough room. He had also ordered food to be brought to their rooms, so that they wouldn’t occupy the ground floor, and mostly, so they could eat in peace.
The last group Marjorie had led to the last room was the one with Ella and her little sleeping brother in her arms, and two girls of approximately the same age as her. They entered, and Marjorie expected Alexander to remain in the corridor, but he stood in the doorway.
“I’ve ordered some milk to be brought up to you as well,” Marjorie smiled at Ella, who’s dirty blonde hair and deep green eyes could not cease to ooze gratitude. Marjorie’s hand gently caressed the slumbering baby’s face once more, then watched as Ella lowered him onto the bed, putting two small pillows behind him and in front of him, so he wouldn’t roll off the bed. He stirred ever so slightly, then just went back to sleep.
The two other girls jumped on the other bed and threw themselves on it. Their soft giggles were the genuine expression of joy.
“No jumping on the bed, girl,” Marjorie urged. “We need to mind our manners.”
“Yes, Miss. Marjorie,” both replied in unison.
“You can sleep there,” Marjorie pointed at the last unoccupied bed in the corner of the room.
“No,” Ella shook her head. “I will sleep next to Henry. We’ve never slept apart like that.”
“But you need to rest as well,” Marjorie implored gently. “You take care of him all day, every day. Who takes care of you?”
Ella took Marjorie’s hand. Ella’s was cold, so very cold. “You do.”
It took all of Marjorie’s conscious effort not to cry at those words. She squeezed Ella’s hands back, then smiled. “Edith and I will be here all night, if you need us for anything, all right?”
“Mhm…” Ella nodded, when suddenly her mouth broke into a loud, grueling yawn. She was exhausted. That much was obvious. At least they had a roof over their heads for the night.
Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled. The storm was nearing.
“It should start any moment,” Ella glanced in the direction of the window. Outside, a few branches knocked on the window glass, guided by a powerful gush of wind.
“You’ve got warm blankets on each bed,” Marjorie gestured. “Wrap yourself up warmly, all right?”
With those words, she turned and left the room. Alexander moved to the side to let her pass. She looked down the corridor. The doors to all the rooms were still open. The children inside of them were eagerly waiting for the arrival of supper, something warm they could put in their little worn out bellies.
Sometimes, helping wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. Marjorie wished she could give them all a proper home, just like the earl did for her. But her story was not a typical one. On the contrary, hers was the odd one out.
She looked around for Edith, but she was nowhere in sight. Marjorie assumed that she was probably still in one of the rooms with the children, tucking them in, or even telling them a bedtime story. They had no books, but an imaginative mind did not need the written word to dazzle a young heart before bedtime.
When she glanced up at Alexander, the change in him was visible, palpable even. The sight of those children had done something she herself could not do in years since she had come to know him. They made him feel what he never felt before.
