Phoebe glanced at Frances with a worried expression as if sensing Frances’ upset. “That would seem like something orphans might be better suited for,” Phoebe said. “Don’t the children in workhouses have families?”
“Yes, and orphans are also sent, of course. But families who enter the workhouses are in unfortunate situations and sometimes choose to send their children away with the hope they’ll have a better life than what they’ve been able to provide.”
Frances’ heart ached at the thought of giving up a child. But she wasn’t so naïve to think it didn’t happen. Some people had little choice and watching your child starve would be equally impossible. “The parents are required to give their consent?”
“Oh, yes. Nothing can be done without that unless they’re orphans. Mrs. Conrad is in charge of that side of the program.” The lady glanced between them as if puzzled by their questions. “Are you interested in raising funds for that endeavor, too? I’d be happy to introduce you.”
It was all Frances could do to keep from adamantly shaking her head. After what had happened to Peter, she didn’t want any part of that.
After another glance at Frances, Phoebe said, “I do believe we will keep our focus on the training endeavors. How are the efforts progressing for the men and older boys to learn carpentry and other skills?”
Lady Fairbridge advised that two volunteers with carpentry experience had started teaching basic skills, but more materials were needed. “It’s best to teach others to build things by actually doing it. Talking about it alone isn’t effective.”
“Of course,” Phoebe agreed as Frances’ thoughts continued to churn. “Any finished products will help to raise money eventually, but initial supplies will have to be provided. That is an area with which we would like to help.”
“Once we have a final tally of the money raised from the ball, we can determine how best to use it,” Frances managed. She couldn’t get the idea of children being shipped so far from home, never to see their parents again, out of her mind.
They spoke further, but Frances was more than ready to leave. She’d heard enough. As soon as the conversation paused, she stood, grateful when Phoebe followed suit. “We don’t want to take any more of your time.”
“I’m so pleased you called.” The lady rose with a smile. “We are making such a difference in the lives of those in the workhouse.”
They were, weren’t they?
Yet Frances was fixed on what the woman had said about the children removed from their families. If even one of them had experienced what Peter had... The thought was enough to make her ill.
The moment the door closed behind them, Frances turned to Phoebe. “The program to send workhouse children to families abroad arose before we decided to hold the ball. How could I have forgotten about it?”
“I suppose I did as well. None of us wanted to support the endeavor since we were uncertain of it. But we had no reason to suspect anything untoward was occurring,” Phoebe said as they walked toward their carriages. “Frances, do you think Peter was involved in this?”
“I’m sure of it.” The knot in her stomach insisted it was true. “But his family didn’t give permission. They were told he ran away.”
“Oh, dear.” Phoebe bit her lip, her brow furrowed with worry. “That doesn’t sound like the program Lady Fairchild described at all.”
“You would think that the person in charge would take great care to be certain the parents were involved in a decision like that when possible.”
“Agreed. I suppose mistakes can happen. But if someone sent Peter away, why would they have done so? To what benefit?”
“I don’t know. But I would guess money was involved. Who received payment that would make them take a child without permission?”
“It sounds as if that question should be addressed to Mrs. Conrad.”
“I must speak with Thomas,” Frances said. “He’ll want to know about this.”
“Do let me know if I can help. Anthony will want to do what he can as well.”
“I will. Thank you, Phoebe.” Frances clasped her friend’s hand and then hurried toward her carriage, urgency filling her to tell Thomas what she’d learned.
How could they possibly hold the ball if such atrocities were part of the charity they were trying to aid?
Thomas ran a hand over the back of his neck as he considered all that Frances had just shared. Her message requesting him to call had been waiting for him upon his return home after visiting the Schmidts again.
The family was thrilled to have been reunited, but the parents seemed unable to believe that the modest apartment was theirs for as long as they needed. The baskets of food he and Frances had delivered were barely touched, as if they worried whether the items were theirs to eat.
For both of those reasons, Thomas was pleased he’d called on them again. He’d explained to Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt, as well as to Peter, that the lodging and food were theirs to use as they wanted free of charge. Thomas had taken care to have several German favorites included in his basket with the hope of making them feel more comfortable.
Peter spoke to his parents in German at Thomas’s behest to make certain they understood what Thomas had already explained.
By the time Thomas had departed, they were enjoying some of the sausage and bread, and Mrs. Schmidt was deciding where to store their meager belongings in the apartment.
