CHAPTER ONE
“You run a tight ship, Miss Tate. I see why the vicar dotes on you as he does. It’s not often one meets a young woman in possession of as much intellect as she has heart.”
Amelia forced a smile, wringing a rag between her hands as she watched the deliverer deposit his goods into the coal hole before them. The autumn months were quickly passing, and the orphanage would need sufficient fuel to ward off the oncoming winter chill.
At the thought of the coming cold, a brisk wind swept through the alley, rustling her hair in its combs.
“Mr. Hayes, you flatter me,” Amelia replied, observing the folded figure of the man before her. He grunted as he hauled another sack of coal down into the cellar. “But there is really no need for such kind praise. There are many who work here to ensure the well-being of these children. And many more who contribute in their small ways. Or shall we say nothing of your most generousrates? I know what you charge my uncle’s household. It is twice what you charge here.”
He paused, looking over his shoulder, his ears turning pink with more than the growing cold. “A generosity which remains between us?”
“Why, of course,” Amelia assured him. “I am nothing if not an excellent secret-keeper.”
To say nothing of the fact, she thought miserably,that I so often forget what is said to me the moment it reaches my ears.
Once Mr. Hayes had completed his task, Amelia walked him back to the coal wagon. He straightened his cap, smearing his forehead with soot. Amelia sighed through a smile, offering him her rag before he climbed back into the wagon.
“Now, now,” she chided playfully. “You must make yourself presentable for your wife. Which reminds me—pray, do thank Mrs. Hayes for the sweetmeats she dropped off last week. The children were besides themselves with joy for her gift. She must return as soon as she is able so they may extend their thanks to her in person. I have them preparing a play at present. Perhaps it would please her to partake in the rehearsals?”
Mr. Hayes nodded, returning Amelia’s rag with a sheepish smile. “Will we see you on Sunday morning?” he asked with a tired grunt, positioning himself onto the driver’s bench.
“Most certainly.” Amelia nodded. “I would not disappoint our dear vicar, who, according to you, thinks most highly of me.”
With another laugh, Amelia waved Mr. Hayes away, stepping back from the road before the orphanage, her boots clicking against the cobbles.
She watched the coal wagon drive out of sight, turning once it disappeared to admire the modest whitewashed building behind her. The painted sign above the door readSt. George’s Home for Childrenin green letters, commissioned two years prior for the opening of the orphanage.
The sight of it warmed her with pride.
Indoors, Amelia hurried down into the kitchens, where Philippa was complaining loudly. She paused in the doorway to listen, not wanting to intrude while her friend aired her grievances.
“It’s not a silly idea at all,” Philippa was saying, viciously scrubbing a pewter bowl. Once it was clean, she thrust it toward the woman beside her to be dried, plunging her delicate hands back into the basin. “There are girls’ schools all over this county which operate in much the same manner.”
“I will not have this argument with you again, Miss Ashwood. We cannot feed the children out of a trough, no matter how much more convenient you believe it would be to clean,” said Mrs. Thatcher, shaking her head. “I would wager you have never set foot in a girls’ school besides, certainly no school for manners.”
Philippa stopped scrubbing, aghast. “I had a governess for that exact purposeactually,one of the finest in all the country, whom I shall not hear a bad word against. Not that I expect a woman of your caliber to behave accordingly, of course... Your husband is a pig farmer, is he not? His farm is on the Avon lands? A trough should be most easy to acquire, that being the case.”
A tense silence followed Philippa’s question, and Amelia stood on tenterhooks, ready to intervene. To her relief, both Philippa and Mrs. Thatcher burst out laughing, quickly resuming their work—and their bickering.
“If the children were to hear you...” Amelia said, making her presence known. The two women glanced at her and smiled as she entered and settled beside Mrs. Thatcher. “A foul impression you would leave on their impressionable young minds. For their sake and for your own, you should not be so mean to one another.”
“Spoilsport,” Philippa quipped with a grin, wiping an errant ringlet of blond hair out of her face with the back of her hand. “Trading jabs makes this job halfway tolerable.”
Mrs. Thatcher nodded, handing Amelia a bowl to put away. “How did you get on with Mr. Hayes?” she asked.
“Perfectly well,” Amelia replied. “I will send Mr. Marsh down to start the fires soon—assuming he can be woken from his post-prandial repose.”
Philippa paused her work and leaned over. “Trying to soften up old Robinson with a warm house? He is calling around today, is he not?”
A wave of fear passed through Amelia at the mention of the building’s landlord. She pressed her lips together, gingerly taking another bowl from Mrs. Thatcher.
“He is arriving sometime this afternoon,” Amelia admitted, diverting her eyes to the ground. “I tried to prepare a speech for him, hoping to convince him of the importance of the orphanage, that a month really is no time at all to wait for us to secure the funds for rent...”
“There is a heart of stone in that man’s breast, I swear it,” Mrs. Thatcher said, scowling in displeasure.
A stout woman with a ruddy face, she was a strange sight beside tall and fair Philippa, who looked down at her with amusement.
“Shall we cut him open and find out?” Philippa asked.
