Page 15 of A Courtesan Countess Worth the Scandal
Her mother nodded. “I already had her put out the sack this mornin’, though some of ‘em are a bit stale. Might need some drippin’ on it, to make it softer.” Her faintly lined lips cracked into a smile. “Which is why I got her to save it from the bacon and put it in a jar for the littluns.”
“You look after those children better than me,” Lily joked, reaching for the thin cane that she carried with her whenever they were outside the house. “Are you sure that’s not where you picked me up from? I’m a foundling, aren’t I? Tell me… I promise I won’t cry.”
Their mother rolled her eyes. “What am I to do with you, eh? You know full well who your Pa is, though I’ll not have you callin’ him that, even if you were to tumble into him in the street.”
“I thought he was sailor who’s always away at sea?” Nora raised an eyebrow and watched her mother squirm.
Depending on when the sisters asked about the identity of Lily’s father, they got a different answer. Sometimes, he was a sailor. Sometimes, he was a soldier who had never come back from war. Sometimes, he was a trader who had just been passing through London. And sometimes, he was no one at all.
“We’re goin’ to be late for the littluns breakfast if we don’t hurry,” her mother urged, evidently eager to change the subject. “I’ll not have their tummies rumblin’ ‘cause the two of you wanted to play silly buggers.”
Nora glanced across the dining room table and smiled as she saw her little sister stifling a laugh. They may not have shared the same father, as far as they knew, but they were not half anything. Nora had made sure that Lily never thought of herself as that. Indeed, they even shared the same silky black hair, though nobody would ever know what color Lily’s eyes might have been. They had always been that milky white.
Ten minutes later, the Black family were out of the house and ready to do what they could for the orphanage. Hailing a hackney, Nora wielded the sack of loaves, while Lily carried the jar of bacon drippings in her free hand; her cane clicking on the flagstones as she walked to the edge of the pavement.
“Do you want to take my arm?” Nora offered, as a hackney drew up.
Lily snickered. “Why, are you not using yours anymore? I’m not sure I’ve got room for three.”
“No matter what happens in life, don’t you ever lose that sense of humor.” Nora laughed, as the three women clambered into the hackney and set off for the Roberts Orphanage.
Situated in the shady end of St. Pancras, it was hard for Nora not to feel guilty, as they arrived outside the orphanage. The stark contrast between this charitable place and her comfortable, sizeable townhouse could never be ignored. In truth, it was one of the reasons she continued to come back, and put so much of her own money into donations.
This could’ve been me and Lily, if I hadn’t met my first client when I did.
The Roberts Orphanage was a hulking beast, squatting between an expanse of unused wasteland, and the burnt out husk of a row of terraces. Sturdily built, with a chimney that rarely smoked, Nora often wondered if it used to be a different color. London had a way of painting buildings in a unique shade of smudged, smeared, dirty gray, but with some soap and water, the stone beneath might well have been white or a welcoming sandstone yellow.
The trio had just exited the hackney and sent it on its way, when a crowd of small, pale faces emerged from the depressing building and hurried across the front lawn of dead grass to greet them. Dressed in clothes that were too big, so they would have no need for new ones when they grew older, the children whooped and cheered at the Black family. Even with so little, these orphans found a reason to smile.
“And how are you all on this fine morning?” Nora swung down her sack of loaves.
“Very well, Miss Black. And how are you?” one of the little girls replied, in a polished tone that she had clearly been practicing.
Nora clapped her hands together. “Why, I’m very well, too. Thank you for asking.” Opening up the sack, she delved in and pulled out a loaf. Breaking it into smaller pieces, she started to pass out the food. “Now, remember to eat it slowly, or you’ll get a stomach ache. And make sure everyone gets a piece!”
The children proceeded to line up in a neat formation, stepping up to receive their chunk of bread and a smear of dripping, before hurrying off to devour it. As ever, none of the boys ate theirs slowly, as instructed, while the girls nibbled elegantly, making the bread last. There would be squabbles soon, and protests of, “She got a bigger bit than me.” But Nora had become an expert in calming any situation between the children.
Once everyone was happily feasting on their bread and drippings, Nora folded up the empty sack and headed into the orphanage. Lily stayed outside, sitting with a cluster of little girls who adored her, while their mother made the rounds of the boys’ hair, to check for lice. The girls would be next, but they always took longer.
Nora rapped on the main door as she entered. “Mrs. Roberts, are you here?”
A familiar face appeared from behind a table, clutching a soaking wet rag in her hand. “Miss Black! We was wonderin’ if you’d be comin’ today.” The young woman, who was Mrs. Roberts’ protegee, Emily Jones, banged on the side of the porridge vat that sat on the table. “We tried to make it stretch further, you see, but there’s just not enough.”
“Do you need more oats?” Nora made an internal note to purchase some before her next visit.
Emily wiped her forehead with the back of her forearm. “We always need oats, and milk, and barley, if we can get them.”
“I’ll speak to Mrs. Roberts about it, and get something delivered tomorrow,” Nora promised. “Speaking of which, do you know where I can find her?”
Emily pointed over her shoulder. “She’s in her office with Julia. I think they’re talking about the same thing—how to get these little ones some more food in their bellies. Oh, and how to stop this roof from leaking like a broken pump.”
“Well, I’ll not keep you from your mopping. I don’t want Mrs. Roberts thinking I’m leading you astray.” Flashing a smile, Nora headed to the back of the orphanage, where a single wooden door disrupted the endless wall of bleak, gray stone.
She knocked and waited for a reply.
“Come in!” Mrs. Roberts called.
Nora turned the handle and stuck her head around the door. The room beyond was not much better than the rest of the orphanage, though there was a painting of a flower on the wall, and there was a solitary, fogged window to make it seem less like a prison.
