Page 27

“Good of you to join us today, Mr. Stanley.” There was a pause as the butcher responded. “Glad to hear it,” Mr. Fossum said.

Mr. Stanley stepped aside, and the vicar bent low to tousle Asher’s hair. “Come now, young man, why such a long face in church? God would not want that, would he? And neither would Elijah.”

Jane did not think that the vicar could possibly be referring to the Elijah in the Old Testament, but she had no way of knowing if there was another by that name who was closely connected to Asher. Neither could she tell if Asher said anything to the vicar, because he quickly moved on, making way for the redheaded youth behind him.

“Master Stanley. Does your father have you helping him in the shop these days?” The vicar cocked his head to one side, listening intently. “Every morning, is it? Well done. Well done.”

Mrs. Stanley stepped forward, and Mr. Fossum’s convivial expression became more solemn. “Ah, Mrs. Stanley, I am glad to see you are returned to us here in High Brodmore.” He shook his head slowly, his hands clasped prayerfully before him. “Elijah was a fine boy, and I am sure you feel his loss keenly. But with the influenza being such a vicious disease, truly, we are blessed that no one else within your household became ill.”

Jane strained to hear Mrs. Stanley’s reply, but she spoke too softly to make anything out. Besides, the vicar’s portion of the conversation had been so startling, it was reverberating through her mind still. Elijah must have been the child Mr. Fossum had mentioned when he’d visited Charwell Park. The one who had recently died of the influenza. Was he Mr. and Mrs. Stanley’s son? Somehow, Jane did not think so. The butcher she’d spoken to only two days ago did not seem like a grieving father. And none of the Stanleys were wearing the black garb associated with mourning a family member. Could it be that, like Asher, Elijah had been a temporary placement in their home from the Foundling Hospital?

“Miss Hadford.” The vicar’s resonant voice was so close Jane stumbled back a step. She had been so consumed in thought that she had not paid attention to her steady progress toward the door. “How nice to see you again. I hope you enjoyed the service.”

“Very much, thank you.” She smiled, and the vicar seemed to need no further translation.

“I am glad to hear it. I hope you and your family will join us here every week.” He shifted his gaze to Phoebe, including her in his welcome, and Jane was spared from responding further.

She exited the arched church doorway, taking the stone step slowly, and then paused to survey the churchyard. A light drizzle was falling, and the churchgoers had no desire to linger outdoors. The Hadford carriage stood waiting for her family just outside the church gates, but most people were already hurrying down the road toward their respective homes. Jane caught a flash of red hair between the branches of the hedge, but the Stanleys were already too far away for her to call them back. She had missed her chance to converse with Mrs. Stanley once again, but she would talk to her soon. She would make sure of it.

One hour later, Jane sat at her writing desk, facing a clean sheet of paper with new resolve. When she had written to Lord Bloxley the day before, she’d purposely limited her report to the scant facts she’d accumulated during her brief visit to the village. Now, after having seen Asher and the Stanley family at church, she felt compelled to tell him more.

She was not in the habit of sharing her personal observations or feelings with anyone other than Phoebe, but in this instance, she was limited in what she could tell her sister. When Phoebe and her parents had questioned her over her hasty exit at church, she’d told them—quite honestly—that she had wished to speak with the young boy who’d played with the shafts of colored light. If they’d thought her reason peculiar, they’d refrained from telling her so. After all these years, they knew how often her love of art and color motivated her actions.

Dipping her quill in the inkpot, Jane chewed her lower lip. How could she best express the alarm churning within her? Other than what she had gleaned through the observational skills she’d honed throughout five years of sitting and watching those around her, she had little tangible proof of anything new to present to the earl. But her heart told her that what she had detected was worthy of consideration. And also worthy of concern.

Lord Bloxley was a busy man, yes, but he was committed to assuring himself of Asher Barton’s well-being. He had already expressed that pledge in word and deed. In addition to that, and unlike most young gentlemen of her acquaintance, the earl had taken the time to listen to her before. No matter how flimsy her evidence, surely he would do so again. She took a deep breath and began writing.

Charwell Park

26th April 1788

Dear Lord Bloxley,

This morning, my family and I attended church services in High Brodmore. The Stanley family was also in attendance, and although I was not able to speak to any member of the family, I was able to learn a little more about their situation through personal observation and their interactions with the vicar. Unfortunately, the things that I saw and heard have left me with no small concern for Asher’s welfare, and as such, I feel compelled to share them with you.

It seems that the Stanleys have at least one natural-born son who resembles his father in appearance and temperament. I would judge the young man to be between thirteen and fourteen years of age. He is sturdily built, and I have witnessed both he and his father raise a hand against Asher. I should note here that although I have no way of knowing exactly how it came to be, Asher is currently sporting a large purple bruise across his right cheek.

In contrast to her burly husband and son, Mrs. Stanley is a small, timid woman. She was holding an infant during the church meeting, but whether the child is her own or one from the Foundling Hospital, I do not know. I also learned that up until very recently, they had another boy (Elijah), who passed of the influenza within the last fortnight. Instinct tells me that he was a Foundling ward, but I have no proof to offer other than the family’s lack of mourning clothes.

When I first met Asher on the village green, he behaved as a bright, curious three-year-old. Today, positioned between Mr. Stanley and his son, he seemed subdued—frightened even—and I find that I cannot assuage my unease regarding his situation. To that end, I have decided to visit the Stanley family again this week. Perhaps I will discover that my concerns are unfounded. I hope that is the case.

Sincerely,

Jane Hadford

Setting down her quill, Jane read through her letter. It would do. Her priority was not what Lord Bloxley thought of her writing ability but rather that he be in possession of this information as soon after receiving her first missive as possible. She realized that there was little the earl could do before returning to Bloxley Hall, but there was comfort in knowing that once her letter was sent, she would not be the only one cognizant of these things—or the only one who cared.

Once she had addressed and sealed the envelope, she pushed her chair back and reached for her cane. First, she would give the letter to Gresham for immediate delivery, and then she would make plans for another trip to the village. If she left early in the morning, her outing would not conflict with any social calls her mother had planned, and Master Stanley would be in the shop assisting his father. This time, Jane wished to speak to Mrs. Stanley alone.

Chapter 10

“That’s it, then. It’s the best we can do.”

Alexander stood beside Jonas and studied the document on his desk one more time. “For the time being, yes. Harrington and his set refuse to pass the bill unless we pull the licensing clause.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “The prime minister agrees that the most important issue is the age limit. The moment the bill becomes law, it will be illegal to send anyone under the age of eight up a chimney.”

“Next time, we will push the age limit higher,” Jonas said.

“Agreed,” Alexander said. “This is just the first step.” If he repeated that line enough, perhaps it would eventually mitigate his frustration over the compromises they’d been forced to make. The Chimney Sweepers Act would pass, and it would set the stage for further legislation in the years to come. For the time being, it would give those young boys a small measure of protection and the right to attend church on Sundays.