Page 68 of The Gentlewoman Companion

He told her of Margaret’s arrival, Samuel’s illness, and the ruse that kept them as servants. “You remember Mr. Kent, the vicar? I’m sending it around that they are his relations in hopes that no one will suspect their relation to me.”

Louisa frowned thoughtfully. “Would a vicar have family in so low a position? And without others to call upon?”

She was right. Mr. Kent was a gentleman whose relations would not be household servants. He must move them into the guest rooms and give Margaret a stipend, though she would resist the offer. “What will I do if my mother writes to him?” The errors of his quick decisions fell upon him.

“You must change the story. Could they be relatives of another servant in this household?”

“I’ve already sent the story among the servants. I must ask Margaret if she has told anyone why she is here and get her out of the servants’ quarters.” He began to leave but then turned back to her. “I almost forgot my purpose in finding you. I am visiting the Foundling Hospital in a few days. Will you come with me? I hope to bring Margaret as well.”

She agreed, and James smiled his thanks before rushing to check on Samuel and discover what, if anything, Margaret had told the servants. He would make whatever excuses he must to her and Mrs. Corfield to see his siblings were not caught in an unseemly position.

Unable to undo the untruth that Margaret and Samuel were relatives of Mr. Kent, James saw his siblings moved into guest bedrooms. Margaret’s mother had been a gentlewoman and taught her daughter to speak like a lady, but the one dinner she took with the family was fraught with tension as James squirmed under his mother’s questioning gaze. Margaret refused to accompany Lady Halverton on social calls, using Samuel’s health as an excuse, so the occasions they were in the same room together were rare.

Still, the situation was untenable. James could not maintain the façade any more than he could send Margaret back to Rosemary Lane, although she continued to insist she would return there without accepting his money.

Although he had made little progress in convincing her of his sincere intentions to provide for her and Samuel, Margaret seemed to be growing more comfortable with him. They managed a few conversations without arguing about the future, and she had agreed to visit the Foundling Hospital with him and Louisa that morning.

Louisa gave up the reins in favor of sitting beside Margaret while James drove the landau. He had already told his sister that Louisa was the only person in the household who he’d entrusted with knowledge of her true heritage, and Louisa quickly put Margaret at ease, asking after remedies used on Samuel and commenting on Margaret’s gown. He caught snippets of their conversation.

“The cording is a stroke of genius,” Louisa said.

“It is quite simple, really. I ordered a plain gown with excess fabric, then made and applied the cording myself.” Rather than growing embarrassed, Margaret became animated by the compliment.

James glanced over his shoulder to see Louisa surveying Margaret as if she were seeing a different person entirely. “You are very talented. I have been thinking of altering a few of my own gowns. Would you look at them with me?”

Their conversation disappeared into the clatter of carriage wheels on gravel as the landau passed through the gates of the Foundling Hospital, an enormous Palladian structure. Surely it could house every parentless child in England. They rolled to a stop.

“Gracious,” Margaret said. “Looks like a palace for little kings and queens.”

Inside the gates was a small lodge, in front of which stood a line of women holding infants. Some nursed while standing, others hushed and bounced their babies. Many were barefooted and wore insufficient clothing for the crisp fall weather.

James helped the ladies from the carriage, and the three of them stood together, watching the procession of impoverished women.

A boy of about eight stepped from the front of the queue and placed a child of perhaps two into a hatch built into the lodge. The small door closed, and the boy waited, bounced on one foot, then another.

The hatch opened. The child was thrust back into the boy’s arms.

“She is too old. Next!”

He tapped on the hatch door. “Bu’ I ‘ave nothing to feed her.”

A small door at the side of the building opened, and a woman emerged. She escorted the arguing boy and his sister to the rear of the main edifice.

“His sister will die,” Margaret said quietly.

Beside James, Louisa inched closer, her shoulder pressing against his arm.

A mother, no more than fourteen, placed her infant through the hatch and bowed her head, mouthing something—a prayer?—waiting for the verdict.

“We’ll take him. What have you for a token?”

The woman reached for her throat and yanked a string from her neck. From it hung a hazelnut, a symbol of luck. She was sending the child with a talisman of good fortune.

“I cannot watch.” Margaret walked toward the Foundling Hospital’s entrance with Louisa on her heels.

James tore his eyes from the mother’s pale, red-blotched face and walked away from the sob that racked her body as she retreated. He caught up with them. “I apologize. Had I known what we would see… Such inhumanity.”

Margaret nodded. “My mother died when I was sixteen, leaving me with a young child to care for. There were days and weeks that, despite my love for him, I would have put him through a hole in the wall and prayed for his acceptance. It is an impossible situation.”