Maisie gave a fierce little nod.
“Well, I can tell you that my future husband won’t try to interfere with something that is important to me.” Sinjin had agreed, after all, that they would respect each other’s interests. “And I have no intention of stopping my visits here.”
Hope sparked in the foundling’s aura, a tiny flame fighting against the dark gloom. Having survived so many travails, was it any wonder that the girl expected the worst?
“You’re marrying a nob,” Maisie said in a quavering voice. “’E won’t want you associating with the likes o’ me. ’E’ll want you to do other things—like eat bonbons or ’ave tea with the King.”
Would Sinjin object to her work at the academy? Polly doubted it. Despite his title and wealth, he disliked pretensions and snobbery. She was learning that he was his own man, one who lived by his own rules and code of honor, and she respected him for it. In fact, he was teaching her to care less about what others thought—and she believed that he would support her in the endeavors that were important to her.
“You’ll have to trust me on this, Maisie,” she said. “I haven’t lied to you before, have I?”
The girl gave an adamant shake of her head, her braids whirling.
“Then I won’t do so with this. I like being here,” Polly said earnestly, “being with you and the other children. I plan to continue my work here for the foreseeable future. And if there came a time when I couldn’t… well, I’d be honest about it. I’d tell you straight to your face, Maisie, so you never have to worry that I’ll just disappear one day.”
“Ma did.” The words emerged in a whisper. “One day I woke up, and she was gone. Tim said she weren’t coming back, but I didn’t believe ’im. I thought she’d want to come back. For us. I was wrong.”
There it was. The root of Maisie’s worry.And, by God, Polly knew from her own experience that it was not an easy fear to eradicate. Nonetheless, she had to try.
“I was six when my mama left us,” she said quietly. “She was taken away by a fever. We thought she’d taken a bit of a chill, but she was gone within the week.”
Even after all these years, she felt tiny reverberations of that shock. Of discovering that her warm, full-of-life mama had gone to be with the angels, leaving the rest of the family stricken with grief. Papa had never fully recovered from the loss.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Kent,” Maisie said, her eyes wide.
“Thank you, dear, but my point is only that I understand how difficult it is to lose someone.”
“But my ma… she didn’t ’ave an ailment.” The girl’s shoulders drooped. “She just left us—on account o’ the drink, Tim said.”
“Which is an illness of a sort, when one thinks about it. But whatever her reason, it doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Polly said, giving the girl’s arm a light squeeze. “Bad things happen in life, and we might not understand why, but we have to have faith that good things will happen too.”
Maisie fell silent. As Polly struggled to come up with some other way to offer comfort, the girl said in a thin voice, “I’m worried… about Tim.”
“Your brother?” Another surprise. Polly’s head tipped to one side. “Why?”
“’E used to visit me every week, but this last time, ’e didn’t come for an entire fortnight. And now it’s been nearly three weeks since I seen ’im last.” The words rushed out in a torrent, as if they’d been dammed up far too long. “What if ’e tires o’ me… the way Ma did?”
Polly’s heart wrenched at the girl’s despair. “Your brother loves you very much. He would never tire of you.” At fifteen, Timothy Cullen was already a rough-and-ready sort of fellow, a survivor of the stews, but during his visits, Polly had seen his bright and unfaltering devotion to his younger sister. “I’m sure other matters are detaining him. Have you asked him about it?”
Maisie’s chin dipped. “’E said since the old Prince o’ the Larks cocked up ’is toes, the gang’s been all mingle-mangled. Different coves ’ave tried to take charge, but Tim says all o’ ’em are driven by greed and care only for themselves.” Pride crept into the girl’s voice. “My brother says ’e ’as to stay on and keep an eye on the l’il ones—’e won’t leave ’em high and dry.”
Even as Polly admired Tim’s noble instinct, she felt a sense of foreboding. The life of a mudlark was tumultuous enough without adding a struggle for power to the mix. She prayed Tim would not be endangered by his desire to do the right thing. She didn’t want to worry Maisie further, however.
“Then you must take him at his word rather than casting about for other reasons,” she said.
“You’re right.” Relief flared around the girl. “I believe Tim. He wouldn’t leave me.”
“I’m very glad you told me about this. You can talk to me about anything. You know that, don’t you?”
The girl nodded.
“Good.” Inspiration struck. “Now I have a favor to ask.”
Curiosity formed a halo around Maisie. “You do?”
“I’m in need of a head flower girl for the wedding. My nieces will be happy to toss petals—seeing as they love to toss just about anything—but they’ll need someone to keep them in order. Someone older and more responsible. I know it is a lot to ask, but what do you say, Maisie? Will you do it?”
“Me?” Maisie’s brown eyes were huge in her small face. “You mean it?”
