his face as he wrote. He had a straight nose and a firm mouth. She noticed his hands, one spread across the ledger, the other holding a pen, strong, capable hands with long fingers and nails neatly manicured. She could easily imagine him comforting the sick and all his female patients falling head over heels in love with him.
He put down his pen and carefully dusted the wet ink before looking up at her and catching her watching him with a slight tilt to the corners of her mouth as if she had found something amusing in what he was doing. He wanted to ask what it was, but decided he did not know her well enough. ‘Now that is done, would you like me to show you round?’
‘Oh, yes, please, and then I must go home. Everyone will be wondering what has become of me.’
He took her all over the house, showing her the dining room, the dormitories, the schoolroom, the infirmary where he treated the sick and the nursery where the tiny infants were looked after by nursemaids. Some were sleeping, some bawling lustily, others, almost too weak to cry, were whimpering. It touched Kate’s soft heart to see them. ‘Are they all abandoned?’ she asked.
‘Most of them. Some are brought in anonymously, others are simply left on the doorstep. Sometimes there is a note attached, telling us the child’s name and why they have been left, sometimes a small memento that has some meaning for the parent. Those little items, most often quite valueless, are often the only means we have of identifying the child and they are carefully preserved in case the mother wants to reclaim her offspring. It is the most heartbreaking side to our work.’
‘How sad.’ She felt the tears pricking her eyes. ‘It must be a terrible decision for any mother to be forced to make.’
‘Yes.’ He led the way back down the stairs to the kitchen and introduced her to some of the other helpers, and even showed her the patch of grass they called a garden and where the smaller children played. ‘The older children are all given their allotted tasks about the place,’ he told her. ‘So we do not have a large staff.’
The children themselves were a mixed bunch. Some were noisy and laughing, others subdued and withdrawn, but all were neatly dressed and well fed. ‘It is the quiet ones I worry about,’ he said. ‘They are the ones who will benefit most from going into a foster home and having a little extra attention.’ He indicated a little girl sitting on the floor in the corner of the classroom intent on playing with a rag doll. ‘This is Annie Smith,’ he said. ‘She is nine years old. I was called to her mother when she fell ill. She could not be nursed at home, so I recommended hospital. Annie’s father cannot look after her because he has to go to work as a docker and there are no other relatives, so she has come here, but as soon as her mother is well again, she will go home. The family is poor, but she was never neglected. She is bewildered by the other children and has found it difficult to settle.’
Kate went over to the child and squatted beside her. ‘Hallo, Annie,’ she said. ‘I am Kate. What do you call your doll?’
‘Dolly.’
‘Of course, how silly of me not to know that.’
The child smiled at that, a wan little smile that told Kate she was missing her parents. She talked to her for several minutes, while Simon looked on. So her name was Kate. She was special, was Mrs Kate Meredith, a born mother, able to relate to children in a way that made them feel comfortable. She made him feel comfortable too. He wondered at that; it was a long time since he had felt at ease in the presence of a woman. He did not know a thing about her, except that she was married and had a taste for novels, judging by the books she carried looped to her wrist by the string.
‘Poor little things,’ she said, as they returned to the front hall. ‘I wish I could do something to help.’
‘We are always short of money…’
‘Oh, I did not mean money, I am afraid I cannot manage more than a small donation. I meant help on a practical level.’
He looked sideways at her. Was that what he had been hoping she would say? She had such a sunny, compassionate nature, she would be an asset to the Society if she became involved. ‘We are always glad of help in whatever form: a few hours at the Home, help with the paperwork, raising funds, fostering. But none of it is easy and it takes up time, so you need to think carefully before committing yourself.’
‘I understand that, and I will think carefully, I promise.’
‘Good. Now, if you have seen all you wish to see, I will escort you home.’
‘Oh, do not trouble yourself,’ she said. ‘I can walk.’
‘Not to be thought of,’ he said. He had no idea what sort of home she came from, but she was well dressed and well spoken and should not be left to find her own way through the poorer streets of the city, not after sticking to him like a leech all afternoon. He realised, with a jolt, that he had enjoyed every minute of it. ‘I have my gig nearby. It is no trouble at all.’ He picked up a bell from the table and gave it a sharp shake. It was answered by an urchin of perhaps twelve years old, whom he sent to the stables to have the vehicle brought to the door.
‘But you have no idea where I live, have you?’ she said with a smile. ‘It might be miles away.’
‘All the more reason to see you safely home.’ He paused. ‘Is it miles away?’
She laughed. ‘No. Holles Street.’
He was surprised. Holles Street, though not the most affluent address in the capital, was not far below it, and if he had known that was where she came from, he would never have allowed her to accompany him into the slums, nor taken her to the Home. How shocked she must have been! But she had shown no sign of shock. She had held Joe in her arms for all his filth and had squatted down beside Annie and talked to her without a hint of distaste. Perhaps he had been right in his first assessment of her and she was a nursemaid or governess to a wealthy family. It would account for the address. But if that was so, what had happened to her husband? ‘Not so far, then,’ he said. ‘But it makes no difference, I would be less than a gentleman if I allowed you to walk.’
The boy came back to say the gig was outside the door and Simon conducted her out to it and settled her in her seat before jumping up and taking the reins from the ostler who had brought it round for him.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘shall we go to the library first?’
‘Library?’
‘Was that not where you were going when we met?’
She laughed, holding up her hand with the books dangling from her wrist. ‘I had quite forgotten these. It seems an age ago. No, I think it is a little late and I had better go straight home. My father and grandmother will be wondering where I have got to.’
‘You live with them?’
‘Yes. My father is the Reverend Thomas Morland. I have been living with him since I was widowed four years ago.’
Once again she had surprised him. Not only that she was not a servant, but she did not look old enough to have been married that long ago. She was beginning to confuse him. ‘My condolences, ma’am.’
‘Thank you. We had only been married six months when my husband went away to war and I never saw him again.’ She did not know why she was explaining that to him. It was really nothing to do with him, though he would have to know all about her if she was going to help at the Home, which was an idea that had been growing
