Page 15 of Her Passionate Duke

Soon, the carriage drew up in front of the house, and they were quickly on their way. As the city rolled past outside the carriage window, Linnet wondered what St Agnes’ would actually be like. Would it, as Lord Charles had said, be miserable, smelly, and dirty? Or would it be better than that? She had never been to an orphanage, or a workhouse, or anything like that before, and she felt a sudden surge of shame.

She had led a privileged life, and had not thought to enquire into what life was like for the poor – not until, barely a year or so ago, she had looked at a crossing sweeper and wondered, for the first time, why such urchins were always grubby, and why they needed to sweep the streets at all. She had asked her mother, and received a dissertation on the exigencies of life for the poor, and why the aristocracy should provide as many jobs for servants as possible, to alleviate the impacts of poverty. If there was no desperate poverty, her mother explained, then there would be far fewer pickpockets or thieves.

It had struck deeply into Linnet’s mind, and she had become steadily more aware of the poor all around her, every day since then, but, until hearing the Duke’s speech at the dinner, she had not realised that others of the ton cared at all.

They turned another corner, and bumped down a narrow street where dusty shops stood side by side with older rather crumbling houses, until they came to a halt outside one particular house, which was somewhat better maintained than the buildings around it. A large sign above a freshly painted green door proclaimed it to be St. Agnes’ Home for the Abused and Orphaned. The sign depicted, below the writing, two children, a boy and a girl, both smiling.

The boy wore a simple hat, a coat, and trousers, while the girl wore a plain gown and stockings. Both had been drawn so as to look, Linnet thought, happier than any two children raised in an orphanage had ever looked. It seemed a very optimistic sign indeed – but perhaps the children here truly were happy.

She stepped down from the carriage, and went up the steps – a footman and Emily trailing behind her. As she raised her hand to rap the knocker, the door opened suddenly and a young man poked his broad head into the street, startling her.

“Mornin’, my Lady,” he said jovially. “You don’t look like no orphan, leastwise none that I ever seen. Orphans don’t commonly arrive in carriages…”

He sketched a bow, which was wobbly, and inelegant but, she thought, at least he had tried. Linnet curtseyed, slightly, in acknowledgement of his effort.

“Good morning. I am Lady Linnet Quinton. I’m here on behalf of the Duchess of Grantsham, to see Mrs. Trellick, and there are some questions I’d like to ask her.”

This proved to be all she needed to say - at the mention of the Duchess of Grantsham, the young man flung open the door like a hidden passage in the Arabian Nights and waved her in with a rather excessive flourish.

“Just this way, if you’ll follow me. And mind the children — they do like to pester visitors in the hope of treats. I fear that the Duchess has spoilt them somewhat. Still ‘tis better than begging for money, or worse, which is what most of ‘em used to do, on the streets, before they came here. Me too, for that matter.”

She followed him through a low-ceilinged passage into a huge spacious room. The tall windows on its long side looked out into a narrow courtyard and garden, which ran along the side of the building. It was cosily furnished as a parlour, although far larger than any parlour she had ever seen. Along the wall there were shelves, cupboards, and three large bookcases full of books.

It was, she realised, remarkably clean – which struck down one of Lord Charles’ claims – and not at all smelly, except for an undertone of bleach and tallow, the one from the cleaning of the floors, and the other from the unlit candles which waited in sconces on the walls. Which struck down the second of Lord Charles’ claims. Keen now to disprove his third point, she turned her attention to the children who filled the room.

There were, she thought, at least thirty children in the room. They had been engaged in various activities, from reading to arguing, and playing with the small collection of toys which were scattered about the floor, but upon hearing the door open, had all stopped, and turned to see who had come in. They did not, she thought, look at all miserable. Which dealt with lord Charles’ third claim nicely.

Thirty sets of eyes fixed her in their gaze, and suddenly she wondered if her bonnet was on straight.

“Ah… Good morning, children.”

They said nothing, but an older girl and a solid looking boy edged to the front of the group. Linnet glanced helplessly at the boy who had let her in.

“You wait here my Lady, and I’ll just tell Mrs Trellick you’re here. Oh, and this’s Liza,” he indicated the girl, “and this’s Tom.” He indicated the boy, then left her there, and walked across to a door on the other side of the room, and went through.

Silence filled the room and Linnet had never felt so uncomfortable in her life. Just as she was trying to think of something, anything, to say, that far door opened again, and the boy who had let her in reappeared, followed by a slightly austere looking woman.

She was dressed in a modest gown, with a woven shawl, her hair braided into plaits which were coiled about her head, and a small necklace was her only adornment.

Her half-boots made her look unusually tall, and she had quite an imposing manner.

Linnet had the immediate impression of a queen who could command total obedience with just a glance.

She took in the silent children and sighed, then turned back to Linnet.

“My apologies my Lady, for the less than enthusiastic greeting,” said Mrs. Trellick. “The children are rightfully cautious, given the lives they led before coming here.” She turned to the children for a moment, “Children, this is Lady Linnet Quinton, and she’s come because the Duchess asked her to.” A flurry of whispers went through the room, and then the children relaxed, as if that endorsement was all that was needed. Slowly, they went back to what they had been doing before. Mrs Trellick smiled, and then asked Linnet, “How might I help you?”

“Mrs Trellick, I’m writing a speech for the Duchess of Grantsham, which I am to deliver at a fundraising dinner next week,” Linnet said in a nervous tone, “I want my speech to inspire members of the ton to donate to St Agnes’, and it would be most helpful if you could answer some questions for me about the orphanage!”

“I’ll do what I can,” she said modestly, “though I should tell you that St. Agnes’ isn’t typical of most orphanages. We’ve been unusually blessed in our donors and that’s allowed me to provide the children with a certain level of comfort. I think, actually, that there would be anger if it was widely known how well they eat.”

“Why anger?”

“Because I think well-to-do Londoners have certain expectations about how an orphanage should be managed.” She shook her head with an annoyed sigh. “If the children aren’t being mistreated, they worry. An old woman in my parish church once accused me of coddling them and said if I reared them in comfort they would enjoy living here and not want to leave, not want to work. As if they shouldn’t be allowed to enjoy things!” Mrs. Trellick rested her palms on the windowsill. “Can you imagine? Being more upset that a few children are eating well than you are that thousands of other children are starving? And people object to the fact that I try to provide them with some education, beyond just teaching them how to clean houses and the like. I’ve the hope that they will have better chances than their parents had, and obtain positions in suitable households. They have lessons every day.”

Linnet had had enough experience of the hard-heartedness of some Londoners that she had no trouble believing it.

“But surely not everyone has been so unfeeling?”