“Can we not take him with us?” Jillian pleaded, the weight of helplessness pushing on her chest.
Pen bent down and took Jilly’s arm. “Come away, sister. What you are asking is impossible.”
Tears shot hotly into Jillian’s eyes. She looked once more at the boy. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
The boy stared back at her as Penelope pulled her away. He appeared to have accepted his fate. It even seemed he felt a measure of pity for her, someone for whom such hardship and callousness was unfamiliar.
For Jillian, the outing was ruined. She had no further interest in the fair or the joys of spring. Penelope, who had tried to distract her with sights they had not yet explored, eventually gave up and agreed to return to the curricle.
They rode in silence, the figure of the tiger—his hands and face spotless, his smart livery an indication that he had a home and food enough—served as a stark contrast to the boy at the fair, reminding Jillian of her heartbreak at leaving the poor lad to his fate.
Back at the townhouse, Lewis was now well-rested. He smiled broadly as they entered the drawing room. “So, did you have fun?” he asked, stepping forward to kiss Jilly’s cheek. “Tell us all about it!”
Us.
Jillian turned to the right and found Lord and Lady Bradford seated on the settee. They looked up expectantly. Perhaps they were truly interested in her news. Perhaps they awaited the courtesy of a greeting.
Jillian felt too wretched to provide either.
“What’s wrong?” asked Lewis, stepping back and seeing no smile, his own now falling from his face.
“It’s probably best spoken of in private,” said Penelope hurriedly, her eyes flicking to her parents.
But Jillian was in no mood to hold back for their sakes.
“They arrested a boy. For taking an apple.” The disgust was evident in her voice. She imagined it was visible in her face, too.
“Where? At the fair?” asked Lewis.
“The fruit seller hauled him off. The poor lad is probably sitting in some damp, crowded cell right now with ten other boys just like him. He couldn’t have been more than twelve years old.”
“Then he is old enough to know better,” declared Lord Bradford.
Jillian ignored him.
“You’re a barrister,” she told Lewis. “Can’t you speak on his behalf?” She grabbed her husband’s hand and squeezed it.
Lewis laid his other hand over hers. “If he is guilty, there is nothing I can do for him. The law is the law.” He said this with little conviction, and Jillian could see that he, too, was troubled by the incident.
“Then the law must change!” she said firmly. “If you cannot help as a barrister, you can help as a member of Parliament. We should be taking better care of the poor and the helpless. Children like him have nowhere to turn to where they won’t be abused.”
“Nonsense!” scoffed Lord Bradford. “There are orphanages and workhouses, where they are clothed, housed, and fed. He probably ran away because he was lazy. So many of them are.”
Jillian whirled around before Lewis could stop her.
“And what would you know of this? Have you ever visited these places you recommend so highly? Have you spoken to these children? Have you seen the gruel they are fed, the bruises on their bodies?”
The baron was unmoved. “What would you have us do? Hand over money that belongs to our children to these strays instead?”
“Yes! It’s not as thoughyouhave worked any harder for it than you expectthemto! And you have so much, why can you not spare some to see that innocents do not suffer?”
“My dear child,” said Lord Bradford with condescending calm. “Would you not rather teach them to live honest lives? Why should we loosen our purse strings for these people when they will use it to drink and gamble?”
Lady Bradford nodded in agreement. “We know you are… passionate about such things. But I do not think you have quite thought this through. To be honest, I do not believe I have ever heard you speak on these children’s behalf until today. Tomorrow, something else will hold your attention instead.”
“You do not hear me speak about these matters,” Jillian said with barely contained irritation, “because I know you have little interest in them. Lewis and I discuss such concerns all the time. And the incident with this poor boy has only fed my desire to delay action no longer.”
Jilly turned back to Lewis. “If I cannot change the laws or give them money, I would at least want to see to it that the places where they are housed are truly safe environments with enough food and no ill treatment. Since London is so big, there must be a children’s home where I could volunteer my time. I could cook, teach, anything to make their lives a little better.”
