The next morning, Cedric was out in Manchester this time, and he told her the trip would be at least two days.
She already missed his surly self, but she still had her job to do, and while going through the unending stream of invitations and cards, she found a letter from the headmaster of the orphanage, Stephen Maximilian.
To His Grace, Duke of Holloway
Your Grace,
I pray this letter reaches you in good health and contentment. It is with the deepest respect that I write on behalf of the children of St Andrew’s Orphanage, whose welfare has long been sustained by your noble generosity.
We remain profoundly grateful for your pledged support, which has provided comfort and stability to those who have no family but the one we nurture here.
Yet I must humbly bring to your attention that the entirety of the funds expected this season has not yet arrived. I am certain this is but a minor delay or an oversight, and I hesitate to trouble Your Grace with such matters. Still, necessity compels me to inform you that our provisions are running low, and the children’s needs grow daily.
We have stretched our resources with utmost care, but without the promised assistance, our ability to provide even the simplest nourishment is at risk. The children, innocent and trusting, look to us for sustenance and guidance, and it is my solemn duty to ensure their well-being.
If it pleases Your Grace, may I respectfully request that the funds be dispatched at your earliest convenience, or that word be sent regarding their expected arrival. Your continued patronage is not only a blessing to our orphanage but a beacon of hope to the children who depend upon it.
It is with utmost gratitude that I thank you, and I wish you and your family all the best,
With the highest regard,
Stephen Maxmillian.
Headmaster
Frowning, Ariadne shuffled through her drawers for the folio Mr. Draven had put together and began poring over the columns. At first pass, she did not see any irregularities, and she worried her lower lip, something she almost never permitted herself to do.
Her eyes flitted to the letter and back to the ledger, not sure what to believe—then she saw it. At the very bottom, a numeral did not seem to fit the sums above.
Grabbing a pen and a pad of paper, she did the sums herself and found that at fifty pounds had magically vanished. Frowning, she summoned Hunt.
“Your Grace?” he bowed.
“Can you find me the ledgers for the orphanage for the last year?” she said. “I need to go through them all.”
He bowed, “I will have them for you, Your Grace.”
Four hours later, with her eyes stinging and a pile of four ledgers on her desk, Ariadne looked down at her deductions; over the past year, a season where the duke donated fifty pounds to the orphanage to last for each quarter, and yet, over the year, eighteen pounds were collectively missing.
The orphanage needed those pounds, and she decided not only to send it to them but to deliver it herself.
“Your Grace?” Mr. Maxmillian bowed to her at the doorway. “I am shocked and delighted to have you in our humble home. Please, come in.”
Stepping in, Ariadne looked around the small foyer and looked at the sad state of the great hall, illuminated by bright afternoon sun. The walls were bare, as she imagined having wallpaper would be expensive to maintain and clean with young children who may have an affinity for paint or mud.
The drapes were thin and unembellished, probably sewn by the older girls; the wainscoting needed a thorough scrub and perhaps a coat of paint. The floor was scuffed and worn. It most certainly could have used a splash of polish, or two.
The entire orphanage had a run-down, drab feel to it. At least, in appearance, but she knew the home, even lacking all the ammonites, was filled with joy and love.
“I am happy to be here,” she said. “I received your letter, and I felt it needed a personal reply.”
“Please, follow me to my office.” He said. “The children are at their lessons now, so we have time to talk.”
With a footman a step behind her, Ariadne followed him into a cramped office that was nothing more than a glorified cupboard. His desk was piled high with several ledgers spread in front, with ring stains from his cup of weak coffee and pens scattered about.
“I apologize for the mess,” he said. “But I am glad you came. I assume you know that you are aware that His Grace donates twenty-five pounds each quarter, and it is a massive blessing that keeps our doors open and food on our table.”
“You have sixteen girls from age three to ten-and-six and twelve boys from two years to seven-and-ten, yes?” Ariadne asked.
