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Ferdy Shilton did not point out that this was the fate she wished for Billy, currently happily entertaining his servants and Miss Rose in the kitchen. Instead, he smiled and nodded his head in assent.
* * *
When he had delivered Miss Payton back to her mother’s house in South Audley Street, Mr Shilton returned home feeling weary with responsibility. How to do what was right and yet please those who mattered most to him?
Miss Rose and Dot were just leaving when he met them in the hall. Madeleine’s eyes were shining as she gazed into his face. ‘Mr Shilton, I commend you for the quality of the care you’ve extended to Billy. He seems very happy and contented, with such an appetite for Mrs Moffat’s food too. He’ll grow prodigious big and strong.’
He answered her enthusiasm with a subdued voice. ‘I’m not certain he can stay, Miss Rose. I’m going to at least inspect the facilities at the Foundling Hospital. It might be the perfect place for Billy, providing companionship and expert care.’
Madeleine spontaneously grasped his arm. ‘No! Mr Shilton. Surely not? We can look after him until his mother comes for him.’ She corrected herself with a blush, ‘I mean you and Mabel and your servants can look after him. And I’ll do what I can to help.’
A sudden thought occurred to him. ‘As you are concerned with Billy too, would you care to accompany me on my inspection of the Hospital? Suitably chaperoned, of course.’
* * *
And so it was, the following day, at noon, Mr Shilton’s chaise pulled up outside the Lockhart mansion in Grosvenor Street. Lady Lockhart and her daughter were about to visit Hookham’s Lending Library in Bond Street and thought they would leave Madeleine practising her Clementi piece on the pianoforte. She had been deputed to play at a soirée Henrietta had persuaded her mother to host later in the week.
When Madeleine heard the sound of wheels on the cobbles outside, she quickly collected Dot and they slipped out the kitchen door, not wishing to be waylaid and cross-examined by Aunt Lucinda or Henrietta. Any gossip about Mr Shilton and his illegitimate sprig she feared would be spread by them as quickly as any servants whispering below stairs.
Slightly breathless with her subterfuge, Miss Rose climbed into the carriage and alongside Dot, sat opposite Ferdinand Shilton, dressed in one of his more sober coats and dark grey pantaloons. ‘Good day, Miss Rose.’ She never failed to be surprised by his good looks and the kindly humour that radiated from his face. Now she also saw Billy’s angelic features writ large and was doubly touched.
Mr Shilton noticed how pink her cheeks were, and how her remarkable eyes were sparkling with a sense of adventure, and he took her hand fleetingly. He also felt a tremor of excitement at the clandestine nature of this expedition. For some reason, he had omitted to tell Miss Payton that he had asked the young woman who had first found Billy to accompany him in her stead.
‘I trust you are well, Miss Rose.’ His tone was amused. ‘And that your cousins are well, and still of this world?’ His eyes were dancing and Madeleine felt the thrill of their secret understanding.
‘They are indeed, thank you, Mr Shilton.’ She stole a glance at his face and thought how her hero in her novel needed to express more of Mr Shilton’s gladsome spirit. He could not be merely handsome and brooding, even given it was a story after the gothic tradition. He could never be described as grave and forbidding. In fact, the more she thought about it, he was far too light-hearted to be the hero in any such fiction. But her heroine was gloomy enough. Madeleine was pleased she had decided to call her Jane, with none of the romantic suggestiveness of an Arabella or Charlotte.
She had never felt that she could live up to her own name, it seemed too fanciful and was obviously an expression of her mother’s aspirations. The only other Madeleine she had heard of was a French writer, Madeleine de Scudéry, whose novel Clelia: An Excellent New Romance she had tried to read in solidarity, but did not finish. The romance, however, despite being two centuries old, did show Madeleine it was acceptable to write about people she knew. Thus, the earlier Madeleine had spurred on the modern Madeleine’s literary endeavour.
She had never really minded not being beautiful until she had met Mr Shilton and an unrequited longing to matter to him had entered her heart. Could such a man ever consider someone like her in a romantic way? She had not been troubled by the question before. Then, when he introduced her to Miss Payton and she saw just how female prettiness like hers flattered a gentleman as handsome as Mr Shilton, Madeleine felt for the first time overwhelmed with a desire to be beautiful herself. How much she wished to be a match for a man as stylish and elegant as he! She consoled herself with the thought she at least had the lovely dress he had bought her and would wear it at Aunt Lucinda’s soirée.
Madeleine also had the consolations of her writing. In the dynamic of her novel, she realised she would have to make her heroine not just a plain Jane but a Jane with an unexpected quirk of character that made her more fascinating than her prettier sisters. Was being clever a trait that a hero might find attractive? Being able to discourse on philosophy and claim to know a poet or two? Was it enough to make her Jane play the piano like a virtuoso? Or should she perhaps become a composer, or an artist? Her heroine might be a Francis of Assisi figure to whom all animals were drawn, and foundling children too. Madeleine was so rapt in possibilities that she almost missed the pleasures of the journey in the company of Mr Shilton.
Mr Shilton glanced across, puzzled by her; she seemed lost in thought, her face full of dreams. She was unlike anyone he had ever met, so curious about life, about other people’s lives, so sympathetically engaged, caring about everything. His carapace of wealth and privilege had kept him separate from the wider world, but now Miss Rose seemed to be waking him from a deep sleep.
Then, suddenly, with a soft sigh, Madeleine was back with him in the present and once more her vitality flamed. She met his gaze with a vivid smile. How irresistible was that combination of intense emotion and amused intelligence that shone through her eyes. Yet he must resist it. That way, dissolution and madness lay. He knew he must concentrate on his tour of the city he loved and the purpose of this journey. He returned his gaze to the window, pointing out various sights as his carriage drew them south and east towards the boundaries of the old city.
They followed the river for a while and beyond the mighty stone-pillared Westminster Bridge loomed the high roof of Astley’s famous Amphitheatre and countless boatbuilders along the shore. Ferdy Shilton pointed, ‘Look, there are the state barge houses; the King’s royal barge will be there.’
Madeleine peered out, hoping to see something of that magnificent boat. And suddenly they were surrounded by the green trees of the parkland and gardens of Lambeth Palace before the carriage started to trundle through newly-built terraces and squares, not as rich and elegant as the ones they were used to in the expensive acreage around Hyde Park and St James’s.
The industry and ceaseless activity of the majority of the populace was thrilling to see. Madeleine watched the organised bustle of workmen lugging bricks and timber up wooden scaffolding as a house rose from the mud in front of her eyes. Her interest was infectious. Ferdy too began to notice the workers and their efficiencies of labour as they used wooden pulleys to transport materials up the side of a new construction. He was struck by their camaraderie and the improvised turbans of cloth for carrying stacks of roof tiles on their heads. Miss Rose expanded the world for him and Mr Shilton was uncertain how to integrate this enlarged universe into his own philosophy of life.
In the distance, the imposing stone edifice of a building with two great wings and a chapel in the middle emerged through the trees. She craned forwards and stuck her head out the window in order to better see. ‘Look, Mr Shilton! I’m sure that’s the Foundling Hospital. It looks like an engraving I’ve seen.’
‘How the city is spreading! This was originally built in the middle of green fields.’
Within a minute, the carriage had rolled through the grand entrance and the horses stopped outside the front door. Mr Shilton climbed out and offered a hand to Madeleine. She caught the toe of her boot in the hem of her pelisse and stumbled slightly. Quickly he put a hand round her upper arm to steady her and was startled by the feel of her warm soft flesh under his fingers. He had inadvertently brushed the bodice of her dress and was seized with a spasm of longing to hold the body beneath it. He knew that Miss Rose, in the delicacy of her bones and embodiment of femininity, brought out the Sir Galahad in him, the honourable knight of old who inhabits dreams and fables. He was grateful for this heroic identification, but the feeling that surprised him was darker, closer to sexual possessiveness and desire, and it troubled him deeply. The pressure of her body on his hand remained in his consciousness, filling him with an exultation that rattled and bewildered him.
Madeleine was also intensely aware of his touch, the unexpected proximity and the sense of his strength keeping her from falling, and she felt excitement surge like a tide through her blood. She gave a small gasp and glanced up fleetingly into his face. His blue eyes, so often mischievous and amused, were serious as he met her gaze. ‘Take care, Miss Rose. The cobbles are slippery and uneven.’ He offered her his arm and they walked, with Dot behind them, up the steps.
They were met by a gentleman who introduced himself as the Secretary to the Patrons and led them into a large waiting room set out with the elegance and grandeur of an art gallery, with paintings on the walls, immediately recognised as being by Hogarth, and landscapes by Hayman. Mr Shilton had not given the real reason for his visit but had said he was considering a donation and was duly offered every facility and grace.
Miss Rose and Mr Shilton sat side by side at the central table, with Dot taking a chair a little way off. ‘I thought we could ask to see where they keep the very young children,’ Ferdy said quietly to Madeleine as they waited for the Principal to show them around. He then turned to look her in the eyes. ‘Is the Foundling Hospital going to feature in your novel, I wonder?’
Everyone knew about the Foundling Hospital with the occasional grand concerts held to raise money. The charity much touted its list of illustrious members who lent their names to the board, together with the wealthy patrons who supported fundraising events. Everyone revelled in how virtuous they were, but very few actually visited the accommodation where the children lived, or knew about their everyday lives.
Madeleine met Mr Shilton’s blue eyes with her grey ones, full of unfathomable feeling. ‘I think I might include the place, but Billy certainly will be important to my story. I consider him a magical infant who brings happiness to everyone he meets and unites people who would otherwise be separated.’
