“I don’t have all that bread sent to let it be distributed improperly. You know if Mrs. Smith isn’t there to hand out what she paid for, the first people will take more than their share and sell it to those I mean to have it free. The rector of the church is too kind. He’s taken in by any story.”
“You go too often. Too many of them know the Widow Smith now. What if one sees you elsewhere? Word will get back to the rest. The poor feed on gossip.”
Only because they have no real food much of the time. “No one will recognize me.”
“That’s not my true worry, as well you know.” Grace’s features tensed. “Walking the streets of London alone is foolish for any woman, but you, a duke’s daughter, are in even more danger.”
“Again, I assure you, no one will recognize me.”
“Black hair is not common, and yours has been mentioned in the paper.” Grace looked triumphant, as if that point couldn’t be overcome.
“The people I help are hardly literate.” Something that should be remedied. “Even if they are, I doubt they’re reading gossip about debutants. They have better uses for their time.” Like trying not to let their children starve.
“They may not read about you, but they hear things, and repeat them.”
“I powder my hair, tie it up and wear a bonnet when I’m Mrs. Smith.” The powder trick had only worked a short while at home, what with country gossip, but in London, Lanora felt it would last.
“I know. I’m the one who has to clean up after it.”
“I help,” Lanora said, stung.
Grace shook her head. “You’re as good at tidying as I am at sewing.” She pursed her lips. “I’m serious, Lanora. Gentlewomen get kidnapped in London. If you’re lucky, you’d be recognized and ransomed. If not, they’ll sell you into a house of ill repute. I’ve heard the stories.”
Lanora laughed. “And stories are all they are. You’re being dramatic.” Mischief brightened her mood. “Besides, if I’m kidnapped, maybe your Lord Lefthook will come to my rescue.”
Grace’s expression shifted from worry to a silly, moon-eyed look. She let out a sigh. “If only he really was my Lord Lefthook.”
Lanora rolled her eyes. “How you can be so enamored with a man you don’t even know is beyond me.”
“Don’t pretend you aren’t there each morning, right beside me, scouring the paper for his name.”
“And such a silly name,” Lanora said, ignoring that truth. “Lord Lefthook. Couldn’t the editor come up with something better?”
“They say it’s on account of his tremendous left hook.” Grace mimed a punch, eyes wide in an equally round face.
“And the lord part?” Lanora’s voice was thick with derision.
“On account of his noble deeds.”
Lanora had to admit they did sound noble, if one believed the paper. “They’re likely made up. He’s likely made up, to sell more copies. Every parlor in London has the paper in it now, right by the tea tray. Ladies send out for their own, not wanting to wait for their male relations to finish with their copies.”
“His deeds are not made up.” Grace’s jaw jutted out. “I have it from the butcher’s wife that the baker cross town, on Southway, has a client who was set upon one night past sundown and saved by Lord Lefthook. He’s telling true, too. It was in the paper.”
“And did the baker relate this tale to the butcher’s wife before or after he read it in the paper?”
Grace frowned. “And they had that quote, last week, from that woman Lord Lefthook saved. The one coming home through the park alone.”
“I suppose you think that woman is real, as well?” Lanora gave a sad shake of her head. “As if any woman would come home through the park alone, at night. You’re the one who’s too naive for London, Grace, not me.”
“They wouldn’t print it if it wasn’t true,” Grace said with conviction.
“Even if the deeds are real, do you mean to believe there’s but one Samaritan in all of London?” Lanora smiled. “He’s awfully busy, doing good deeds nearly every night.” Lanora loved to tease Grace, but she was interested in the figure of Lord Lefthook. Real or imagined, his work brought needed attention to poor parts of London, for that’s where he roamed.
Since arriving, she’d been horrified by the conditions that existed in the city. No one under her father’s care was permitted to live in such poverty. She would take the forgotten of London back to the country with her if she could, but there were simply too many. Something must be done where they were, in London, to rectify the problem. Especially for the women and children, many of whom bore no fault for their circumstance.
Reminded of the other reason she especially wished to go out, Lanora stood. “I am going, and that’s the last of it.”
“I won’t help you ready. I disapprove.”
