Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane #2)(17)

Mrs. Hollingbrook was younger and less poised than her elder sister. Her face reminded Hero of a medieval saint—all pale oval solemnity—and like one of those painted martyrs, she seemed to hold a resigned melancholy close to her heart.

“Won’t you come in and have a dish of tea?” Mrs. Hollingbrook asked formally as she always did.

She stood aside, letting Hero precede her into the home. Hero stepped over the threshold, trying not to wince at the cracked plaster on the entryway walls. A cramped room lay at the back of the house, and Hero entered it, familiar now with the rhythm of her visits to the foundling home. Inside, four chairs, a low table, and a desk had been crammed into the small space. Hero took one of the chairs, drawing off her hat as Mrs. Hollingbrook fluttered about, supervising the tea.

Finally the other woman settled to pour the tea. “No sugar, is that correct, my lady?”

Hero smiled. “Yes.”

“Now where have I put the spoons?” Mrs. Hollingbrook held the full teacup in one hand, the hot liquid sloshing perilously near the rim as she searched the crowded tea tray. “But if you don’t take sugar, perhaps you won’t need a spoon anyway?”

“I don’t think so.” Hero took the cup before Mrs. Hollingbrook burned herself. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Hollingbrook smiled uneasily and sipped at her own tea. Hero looked down at her teacup. People were often awkward or shy about her, she knew. Her rank awed them. It was a perpetual problem—how to put others at ease.

She inhaled and looked up. “I understand the home has new residents?”

“Oh! Oh, yes.” Mrs. Hollingbrook straightened and placed her teacup down carefully on the low table. She clasped her hands in her lap as if about to recite a memorized poem. “Since we saw you last month, my lady, we’ve taken on two infants—a boy and a girl—and a little boy of four years. The boy, Henry Putman, is—”

Mrs. Hollingbrook stopped here because Hero had coughed. “I beg your pardon, but I thought all the boys were named Joseph at the home?”

“Well, yes, they usually are, but since Henry Putman already had a name—which, as it happens, he was quite adamant about—we thought it best to let him keep it.”

“Ah.” Hero nodded. “Please continue.”

Mrs. Hollingbrook leaned forward. “I’ve never understood why Winter and Temperance chose to name all the boys Joseph and all the girls Mary. It’s incredibly confusing at times.”

“I should think so,” Hero replied gravely.

Mrs. Hollingbrook smiled quickly and suddenly, the expression lightening her pale face and making her rather beautiful. “Ahem. We also placed two of our girls in apprenticeships this last month. And, with the monies you and the senior Lady Caire gave us, we were able to outfit both girls with new clothes, shoes, stays, a prayer book, a comb, and a thick winter cloak.”

“Very good.” Hero nodded approvingly. Some of her help was working at least. “Perhaps you’d like to show me the home now?”

“Of course, my lady.” Mrs. Hollingbrook jumped up. “If you’ll step this way, the children have been practicing all week for you.”

Mrs. Hollingbrook led the way into the dark little hallway and up a rickety set of stairs. They passed a first floor, given over, as Hero knew from previous visits, to dormitory rooms for the orphans. On the second floor there was a room for the toddlers and infants and a little room used as a classroom. Mrs. Hollingbrook led her here and opened the door with a flourish. Within, a dozen of the older children stood in two rows, faces scrubbed, and hair still slick from water.

As she entered, they spoke in unison. “Good afternoon, Lady Hero!”

She permitted herself a small smile. “Good afternoon, children.”

Her reply elicited a smothered giggle from one of the boys. A sharp glance from Nell Jones silenced the giggle. Mrs. Hollingbrook gave a discreet nod, and the children burst into ragged song—a hymn, no doubt, though Hero couldn’t quite place either the tune or the words. She kept her smile firmly in place even as the most enthusiastic girl went flat on a low note and one of the boys elbowed another in the ribs, making the second squeak.

The song ended on a rather screeching high note, and Hero fought not to wince. She clapped enthusiastically, and the little boy who had assaulted his neighbor grinned at her, revealing two missing upper-front teeth.

“Splendid, children,” Hero said. “Thank you for your song. And thank you to your teachers as well.”

Mrs. Hollingbrook blushed prettily even as she escorted Hero back down the stairs.

“Thank you for coming, my lady,” she said as they made the front door. “The children look forward so to your visits.”

Hero knew that Mrs. Hollingbrook was bound to flatter her because she was the home’s patroness, but as she took the other lady’s hand, it seemed that the manageress truly meant her words.

“I enjoy my visits as well,” Hero said.

She wished she could say more. Could promise that the children would be out of this wretched temporary home soon. Could tell Mrs. Hollingbrook that the children would have new beds, a new schoolroom, and a huge garden to run in come spring. Instead she smiled one last time and made her good-byes.

She picked her way back up the street with a heavy heart. She had a feeling her next visit of the day wasn’t going to be nearly as pleasant.