“I know precisely what you mean. Especially when the man in question can’t even remember being introduced to you.” Lady Harriet’s thoughtful expression suggested she’d experienced exactly that.
“Oh dear. I can’t imagine.” Thank goodness Eliza had that much behind her. She already counted Philip as a friend and hoped he would say the same.
“Yes, well, it was distressful at first, but I’m pleased to say we’ve come a long way since then.” Her blue eyes softened with emotion.
“You’re in love,” Eliza whispered as the realization came. Then she quickly clamped her mouth shut. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude—”
Lady Harriet laughed. “Is it so obvious?” She pressed a hand to her chest as if to calm her heart. “Yes, I am. Much to my astonishment, the gentleman cares for me in return.”
“That is wonderful news.” It was all Eliza could do not to catch the attention of the other ladies so they could celebrate Lady Harriet’s good fortune, but the news wasn’t hers to share.
“Thank you. I suppose I haven’t told anyone as of yet because I need a little time to believe it’s true.”
Eliza nodded. That made perfect sense. “It’s often nice to hold good news to yourself for a time. Allow it to seep in until you feel it in your bones.”
“That’s very true. But I know it will soon burst forth.” She glanced at Lady Bolton, suggesting the lady would be one of the first people she’d tell. “I won’t be able to keep from sharing it for long.”
“I look forward to hearing the details soon.”
The remaining ladies arrived, and the porter who guarded the entrance showed them inside. The building and those within it were a depressing sight.
Eliza couldn’t imagine being forced to live in such a hopeless place. But if one had nowhere else to go and no food to feed their family, it was the only option if they didn’t want to risk sleeping on the street.
The front portion of the facility held the offices where they were greeted by Mr. Johnson, who was to be their guide.
An unpleasant odor met them the moment they walked in the door, a mix of stale sweat and lye soap. The casual ward near the front entrance was where vagrants stayed only for the night. There were also relieving rooms where those seeking admittance remained until a medical officer examined them.
Once that took place, the paupers were separated into various wards by age, gender, and ability. Children younger than two years were allowed to stay with their mothers. A uniform was given to everyone and to be worn at all times.
“You’ll note the casual wards are rather stark and dismal,” Mr. Johnson said. “This is to discourage vagrants from wanting to be admitted to the workhouse. The porter decides whether or not they’re allowed to spend the night.”
Eliza wasn’t certain what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. A hopeless feeling lingered in the air and pressed heavily on her. What might Philip think of the place? Would he feel as compelled to do something as she did? She hoped she had the chance to speak with him about it. Someone in his position would be able to make improvements much more readily than the literary league.
The casual ward they viewed was a large room with a row of narrow beds and with a bucket at the end of each. Any vagrants who’d spent the night had already left for the day, having performed a few hours of work before being allowed to leave.
While the process was orderly and the place relatively clean, Eliza still felt as if her heart was lodged in her throat during the tour. The glimpses she caught of those inside, so many with despair etched in their faces, nearly brought her to tears.
A look at the other league members suggested they were experiencing much the same emotions.
Mr. Johnson showed them briefly into the other wards. One housed only elderly women. Another had young girls under the age of fourteen.
In addition to cleaning the wards and performing other domestic duties, the young girls picked oakum. Old tarry ropes were picked into pieces which were used to make new ropes or pressed between the planks in ships to help make them watertight. The task was a terrible job that caused their fingers to hurt and often bleed, something Eliza knew from a book she’d read.
“Surely, there is a better option for some of these people than this,” Miss Melbourne murmured to Eliza as they left the ward.
“Indeed.” Eliza nodded. “There has to be a way we can help.”
“It feels impossible when so many are here,” Lady Winifred whispered. “And this is only one workhouse. There are numerous ones in London.”
“We can’t allow that to change our intent,” Eliza said. “These people need aid of some sort.”
They finished the tour and thanked Mr. Johnson for his time.
Once they were standing outside the entrance again, Lady Bolton looked around the group. “Let us venture to somewhere more pleasant to discuss our thoughts.”
Eliza was relieved they weren’t going to try to have a conversation under the porter’s watchful eye.
“To the lending library?” Lady Harriet asked, and everyone agreed.
