Page 69 of The Gentlewoman Companion

“No such despair need threaten you again,” James said.

She stiffened. “As for that, we had better return to Rosemary Lane once Samuel is well, else we lose our lodgings.”

“I cannot allow that.”

“Allow? We never belonged to you.”

Not for the first time, he reminded her, “We have the same father. It is right that you and Samuel should benefit from his wealth.”

“My mother was born a lady, abandoned by her family after her first indiscretion. A series of men came and went, all assuring the same thing. I do not trust promises anymore.”

“You sell gin through your front door and sew by the light of a single candle through the night. That is no life for you. Think of our brother.”

“That is what I am doing. Besides, I like sewing.”

“Lord Halverton,” Louisa said, “leave her be.”

James sighed. They had come to the entrance; the conversation would have to wait. Inside, the hospital walls were freshly whitewashed, and the floor shone, the entrance hall resembling that of a great house, complete with numerous paintings.

Margaret whistled through her teeth. “Sell some of those and put meat in the stew.”

“It’s a gallery, of sorts,” James told them. “Artists contribute their work, the wealthy come to examine the works, catch sight of the children, and are inspired to donate. Concerts are held here as well. Handel conducted the second performance of the ‘Messiah’ here. An effective strategy, I understand.”

A woman dressed as a nursemaid led them into the office of Mr. Bloomfield, the governor.

“Good morning, my lord, ladies.” Mr. Bloomfield, a round-headed man with drooping jowls, moved from behind his desk and greeted them in turn.

Once they were seated, James asked about what they had just witnessed in the yard. The governor described their system. They accepted babies younger than twelve months who showed no sign of disease. Upon approval, they were rebaptized with a new name and matched with a wetnurse in the country, where they remained until they were five years old.

Margaret sat on the edge of her seat. “The children are first given up by their mothers, raised by another woman for five years, and given away a second time?”

“Better than the alternative.” Mr. Bloomfield cleared his throat. “Upon returning, the girls are taught to become household servants, and the boys are apprenticed or join the military. We give them a chance to provide for themselves.”

James leaned forward. “Which is the most pressing need at the Hospital? How may I help?”

Mr. Bloomfield rocked back in his chair and fixed his eyes on the wall. “What we require most is more space.”

“Surely not. This place is monstrous.”

Mr. Bloomfield splayed his sausage-like fingers. “The demand is great.”

James thought of the long line outside and nodded slowly. “Perhaps I cannot conjure an additional wing to house more children today, but I would like to put my name forward for a seat on the General Committee of Governors. With time, I may be able to help provide solutions for the issues you face.”

“We do not vote on the matter for another three months, but your interest in the welfare of these children and your respected position will certainly give you an advantage.”

That, and the sizable donation James had already sent to the Hospital.

After a tour, wherein the nursemaid showed them the kitchen, the sleeping quarters, children practicing their letters, and children harvesting carrots and cabbages, they were dismissed and left to stand in front of a large, barren garden.

“I feel as though I put a drop of water into the Arabian sand,” James said. “It is good to see how my donations will be used, but it is not enough.” Beside him, his sister shivered. He must remember to purchase her a warmer cape. “There is a blanket in the carriage. Let us return home.”

They turned and saw a white-capped woman shove onto the gravel the same little boy who had earlier tried to bequeath his sister.

“We’ve told ye, there ain’t a corner for your sister.” She slammed the door.

“Do no’ you worry, skin and blister,” he said to his sister. “We’ll come back ’omorrow an’ the nex’ day affer un’il they ‘ake you.” The boy straightened when he saw his audience. “Unless this fine gen’leman an’ ladies will ’elp.”

Louisa went to the boy. “Where are your parents?”