He had expected that. All loved ones left behind wanted answers. “I’d be happy to share what I can. It might be best if you kept this conversation to yourself, I’m sure you understand. I wouldn’t want the reputation of the sanatorium damaged without cause.”
“Right. I will.”
“Thank you for your time, sir.” With that, Henry took his leave.
He looked up and down the street in the fading twilight, disappointed not to have learned anything specific. General unease, yes, but it was marked by grief, which could be a great confuser of emotions. Perhaps Mr. Compton’s physician would be of some help.
The quiet of the neighborhood settled over him. He wished in hindsight that he had suggested to Amelia they dine together that evening, as he didn’t relish returning to his lodgings. However, he had tomorrow night to look forward to. And perhaps many more nights in the future.
After a moment’s consideration, he decided to make one more stop before returning home. It had been well over a week since he’d spoken with Marcus, the lad who roamed the streets of Whitechapel and occasionally assisted Henry.
Whether Marcus had family of any sort, or even a home, remained unclear. Henry could never get a straight answer from the boy, nor had Marcus seemed to truly consider Henry’s offer to send him to the school Amelia and her aunt supported.
That didn’t mean Henry would give up on him. After all, it was possible that Marcus might be of help with the stolen jewelry case he’d just been assigned. The lad had a knack for finding out who was involved in such things—using connections that Henry carefully did not inquire into any deeper.
Luckily they’d arranged to leave messages for Marcus at the Royal Arms, a pub on the outskirts of Whitechapel. Doing so now would save Henry time come morning, and the evening was fine with a mild temperature and a clear sky. Perfect for walking.
Within three-quarters of an hour, he’d reached his destination, left a message for Marcus, and departed. The rough neighborhood was not one in which he cared to linger. It took another half hour for him to arrive at his lodging house just in time for a bowl of questionable vegetable soup and two meager slices of dry bread. Knowing he had a fine meal at Amelia’s to look forward to made it easier to eat the less-than-appetizing one before him.
In all honesty, he could imagine eating dinner with Amelia every evening—and breakfast too. But it wasn’t merely because of the unappealing soup before him or his simple rooms.
He just wanted to be with Amelia.
He’d intended to tell her the full depth of his feelings but had held back. The time had never seemed right to express his love.
Perhaps he needed to create the right moment instead.
The thought was enough to give him pause as nerves took hold. Was he ready for the next step?
More importantly, was Amelia?
Five
Thefollowingmorning,Ameliaarrived at St. Hope's Charitable School to advise Aunt Margaret of what she and Henry had discovered about her friend, as well as the slightly more joyful task of determining where and how she might conduct a few experiments with the children.
The small school resided in a former merchant’s house near Blackfriars in central London, on the north bank of the Thames. The building had arguably seen better days, but had been recently remodeled for its new purpose, and could accommodate approximately twenty students, most of whom were orphans and lived within its solid brick walls. The girls resided in one dormitory and the boys in another on opposite sides of the building, with school rooms and a dining hall in the center, and the kitchen in the rear on the ground floor.
Amelia had been most impressed on a previous visit to be told how the ladies of the church who’d started the school had done all they could to make it warm and comfortable. They even had a small vegetable garden to help supply food and teach the children how to grow plants. The students had chores each day, which helped to run the school, and those tasks changed each month, allowing them to learn domestic service skills whilefurthering their education—for both the girls, and the boys. Amelia often volunteered her time, but not as often as her aunt did.
Trepidation slipped through her ribs as she made her way along the street to the school. She hadn’t told Aunt Margaret that she and Henry were intending to visit Hollowgate Heights the previous day, though she had mentioned her concern about the sanatorium—a concern her aunt shared.
Though Louisa was a longtime friend of her aunt’s, Amelia knew Aunt Margaret hadn’t completely supported her friend’s decision to enter the sanatorium. Amelia and her aunt both thought it a somewhat drastic step.
A step which now felt all the more unpleasant, now that she knew they couldn’t see Louisa.
Amelia rang the front bell of the school, which remained locked to keep ruffians from coming in uninvited, the neighborhood not being the safest. It didn’t take long before one of the maids let her in, greeting her warmly and directing her to the kitchen where her aunt was helping bake biscuits for the children.
“Amelia, how delightful—I didn’t expect you this morning.” Her aunt wiped her hands on an apron as she moved toward her, blue eyes sparkling in her round face. “What brings you by?”
Miss Margaret Baldwin, a spinster and Amelia’s mother’s younger sister, had endless amounts of energy, a curious mind, and enjoyed travel. Volunteering at the school provided her somewhere to release that liveliness and also gave her purpose, something Amelia knew all too well was precious.
Amelia returned her aunt’s embrace. “I wanted to speak with you for a moment, and confirm what I should bring for the experiments next week.”
“Excellent. Would you care to help us finish baking, and then we can have a cup of tea and a proper chat?”
“Of course.” Amelia didn’t miss the puzzled look her aunt sent her, clearly curious about what she wanted to talk about. But her questions would have to wait until they were alone, since the kitchen bustled with deliveries of supplies from the back door, and the cook shouting cheerful instructions to a frazzled scullery maid.
Amelia soon wore a similar apron to the others and was assisting with dropping dough by spoonfuls onto a baking sheet. Two other women, with whom Amelia was already acquainted, worked alongside them. Their task was quickly completed.
