Page 1 of Lady for a Season
Chapter 1
The Third Room
“You’re wanted, Maggie.”
Maggie rocked the baby girl she was holding. Number 18,723 was asleep, unaware that her weeping ragged mother had just left the room, probably never to see her again. She would go back out into the cold January streets of London, childless, with an endless absence in her heart, and her daughter would be raised by strangers.
The Foundling Hospital staff around Maggie were busy with other babies of varying ages, from a newborn up to a confused toddler who could only just walk, turning his face in all directions, searching for his mother.
Maggie laid the baby down in a basket. The nurse by her side was briskly completing the paperwork for the new child, noting her stated age of three months and the name her mother had given her, Mary. The name would be changed at once, of course, giving the child a fresh start in life, but her file would include these details, along with a description of her current clothing and any distinguishing marks. Noted and filed, too, would be the small scrap of lilac ribbon the mother had left, a token she could refer to if it were ever in her power to reclaim the child. Judgingby her clothing, Maggie doubted this would ever be possible. The lilac ribbon would never be seen by the child. She would shortly be christened Betsey and given the surname of Guildford, one of the roads surrounding the Hospital. Betsey would be sent to a foster family in the countryside to be raised until her sixth birthday, after which she would be returned to the Hospital, there to live until she was fourteen, when she would be sent out into the world as a servant, while a boy child of the same age might be apprenticed to learn a trade.
“You’rewanted,Maggie. Matron’s in the parlour with a visitor.” The girl sent with the message hovered anxiously in the doorway.
Maggie touched the sleeping baby’s cheek. “God bless you, Mary,” she whispered, knowing hers would be the last lips to speak the name the child’s poor mother had given her. She wondered, as she always did, what her own true name had been, what token her mother had left for her, hoping against hope to one day be reunited. She had never dared look for her file, not even in the six years she had worked in the receiving rooms at the Hospital since turning fourteen herself. While most girls left the Hospital at fourteen, the Matron at the time had approved of Maggie’s calm demeanour with the younger children and kept her as a member of staff.
The parlour was a small, neat room, with stiffly uncomfortable chairs, where Matron held weekly meetings with the chaplain or sometimes received visitors such as parents asking to reclaim their children. Possible benefactors or other visitors of greater importance would not be shown in here; they would be taken to the grandly painted and gilded ‘court’ room which Maggie had only ever half-glimpsed through an open door, where the governors held their meetings.
Today Matron was accompanied by a smartly dressed man, perhaps forty years old.
“Come forward, Maggie,” she said. “This is Doctor Morrison.”
Maggie bobbed a curtsey.
The doctor inspected her. “She might do. I cannot take one of your younger girls, you understand, I need a steady hand, as we discussed. How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty, sir,” said Maggie.
“She is not particularly pretty,” said the doctor to Matron approvingly.
Maggie did not feel hurt by this. It was her opinion also, having seen herself occasionally in a looking glass. Her plain brown hair and eyes, her pale skin, were unlike those girls at the Hospital who had rosy cheeks or sparkling blue eyes, ready with smiles for the lady visitors who sometimes gave out treats, favouring the children who were better looking than the rest. She knew she was plain, but as the sins of pride and vanity were frequently railed against by the chaplain during prayers, it was probably for the best.
“The girls of the Hospital are clean and neat and that is all that is required of them in the way of looks, sir,” said Matron.
He nodded. “Indeed. And you will understand, of course, Matron, that good looks would only be a possible temptation which is to be avoided.”
Matron’s eyes narrowed. “Is the gentleman inclined to interfere –”
“Oh no, no, let me reassure you there has been no such trouble, he has never… I only meant to say that I would not wish to hire a girl with excessive charms. One does not wish to unnecessarily excite… but no matter, I can see that Maggie is a very likely sort of girl for the position I have in mind. Is she calm where others are excitable? Whilst the gentleman in my care is mostly very amenable, there can be moments when one must be firm to secure tranquillity and obedience.”
“She is not a flighty girl by any means,” Matron reassured him.
“Then I believe she will do very well.”
Matron nodded. “She will be ready for you tomorrow morning as agreed.”
The doctor rose and gave Matron a brisk bow. “You have been most helpful,” he said. “Until tomorrow.” Without any further word to Maggie, he left the room.
“Well, now, Maggie,” said Matron. “You may sit down.”
Maggie sat down on the hard chair, mindful to maintain a straight back, for Matron disliked slovenly posture. “Am I to assist the doctor in some way tomorrow morning, Matron?”
“Doctor Morrison came to me to help him find a most particular servant. As a physician, he specialises in the care of lunatics and those who are afflicted with such nervous excitement or melancholy as renders them unfit for usual and proper society. These poor souls are generally cared for in institutions such as Bedlam here in London, for those of the lower orders, or Ticehurst House, in East Sussex, for the gentry. But there are a few whose families have requested that they be housed privately, and such a one is a young man named Edward, who is in Doctor Morrison’s care.” She nodded meaningfully at Maggie, who gazed back, still uncertain of what was happening.
“You will join the household in which he lives. Your chief duty will be as a companion to him, to keep his spirits high but not recklessly so, and to give what domestic and attentive comforts may be appropriate when he is afflicted.”
“I am to be his servant?”
“You will be a superior kind of servant,” explained Matron, seemingly well pleased. “There is already a cook and a maid of all work there, as well as a local man from the village who will take care of any heavy work, so you are more in the way of a personal attendant. A gentleman would usually have a manservant or valet, but it seems Edward does not respond well to men. Hedoes better with women about him and so the good doctor has decided it would be best to humour him in this.”
