Page 50 of Tempting the Scoundrel
Nick told her that was why many children had gone to Whelan, him included. Food, safety, shelter—these were things in the East End that did not come without some cost. Alexandra never wanted these children to pay a steep price.
“Come, then,” she said, pushing the blankets off. Sleep, it seemed, would have to wait. She smiled at the girls. “We’ll have one of the maids ask Mr. Burke to bake a batch of pastries while I dress. Then we’ll take them with us to the orphanage.”
Fiona squealed, and Lottie tentatively smiled back. “You’re a good ‘un, too, lady,” Lottie said, and her small dimple flashed.
After dressing, Alexandra took the girls down to the kitchens, where she found Mr. O’Sullivan instructing the cook on that night’s menu.
“Good morning, Mr. O’Sullivan, Mr. Burke.”
Burke’s warm grin revealed one missing tooth. Mr. O’Sullivan returned her greeting with a brisk nod that showed friendlier progress from his frosty demeanor upon her arrival. Then he spotted the two girls behind her. “You two.” Mr. O’Sullivan gestured between them. “Isn’t school starting soon?”
“Don’t scold the children, Mr. O’Sullivan. It’s my fault they’re still here,” Alexandra interrupted before the girls could reply. She smiled at Burke. “Pastries?”
The cook reached for the basket on the table and handed it to her. “Fresh out of the oven, my lady.”
“Thank you, sir.” She beamed at him, then turned to the larger man. “Mr. O’Sullivan, I’ve a favor to ask.”
“I’m busy. You’ll have to ask Thorne.” The cook clicked his tongue, causing Mr. O’Sullivan to scowl. “Didn’t ask for your tutting, did I, Burke? Don’t you have a shipment to check?”
Shaking his head, Burke disappeared out the side door, leaving Alexandra and Mr. O’Sullivan alone in the kitchens. She hated to tear the factotum away from his work, but . . . “Nick was out all night and only came home mere hours ago.”
“He wouldn’t wake up, Mr. O’Sullivan,” Lottie chirped. “Said not to bovver him.”
“That’s because you escape from Mrs. Ainsley’s and pick the locks on his door,” Mr. O’Sullivan said to Lottie. To Alexandra: “I recall seeing a light on in your room when he came in. Didn’t get much sleep either, did you?”
He must have been one of the men Nick had guarding her bedchamber. “No. But I was not patrolling dark alleyways for hours.” When he still seemed reluctant, Alexandra said, “Please. Accompany us to the orphanage so I can give the other children pastries before school. Mr. Burke went to all the effort of making them.”
Lottie added, “And Mrs. Ainsley’s more forgiving if we show up with pastries. She likes ‘em, even if she pretends she don’t. Caught her eatin’ one in a closet once, didn’t we Fi? She was cryin’ like someone died.”
Mr. O’Sullivan frowned. “Telling tales again, Lottie?”
“No, sir! On my ma’s soul, I saw it.” She bit her lip. “You won’t tell her I picked the locks, will you, Mr. O’Sullivan?”
He sighed. “Just don’t do it again, sweetheart.” Before Lottie could answer, he took the basket from Alexandra. “Fine. I’ll go.”
“Wonderful,” Alexandra said with a bright smile. “Come along, girls. Lead the way.”
They followed the two delighted children out of the kitchens. Alexandra pulled up the collar of her coat as she exited the Brimstone. The weather was brisk with the promise of autumn, the East End redolent with the coal smoke that stained its buildings black. The malodor of this part of the city had been difficult to grow used to once, but it hardly affected her anymore.
Lottie and Fiona raced each other down the muddy lane, nimbly moving between every passerby.
“Girls, stay in our sight, please!” Alexandra called.
These early hours filled the streets with people. There was the drunkard heading home from a night at the tavern. The factory girls chatting on their way to work. The baker hawking from his shopfront. A pair of lovers kissed passionately before saying goodbye for the day. The East End was a boisterous community, less formal than what Alexandra was accustomed to in the West End. It was these moments that made her smile.
“The girls like you,” Mr. O’Sullivan said quietly.
Alexandra pressed a coin into the palm of a child admiring the bread in the baker’s window. His crow of delight made her smile. “They’re fascinated by me,” Alexandra replied, walking on. “No doubt their experience with ladies of my station are those involved in charity or those who sneer at them from carriages on the thoroughfare.”
Mr. O’Sullivan made a gusty noise. “What difference?” he asked. At her confused expression, he explained, “Ladies support orphanages because the children are too small to wonder why their patronesses never touch them even with a gloved hand. They’re so grateful for full bellies that they’ll take any snobbery that comes with a meal.” He nodded to the girls, who were walking well out of earshot. “Lottie’s at an age where she’s starting to understand.”
“Understand what?”
“The difference between who lies and who tells the truth. The ones with the pretty smiles are easy to trust, but their betrayals stick with you longer. The ladies in the carriages might be a lot of fucking harridans, but at least they’re honest.”
Alexandra was silent, watching the two girls stride through the winding streets. Their heads dipped towards each other as they chatted back and forth. It struck her that Lottie’s unprompted remarks about her life before the orphanage were small tests for Alexandra. Was she a lady from the carriage, or a patroness who hid disgust behind false smiles? There was a truth to Mr. O’Sullivan’s harsh words; in Alexandra’s world, charity was a form of social currency. Anyone from the daughters of dukes to the wives of viscounts bragged of their good works—not because they cared for the impoverished, but because they received admiration from their peers. After all, their husbands and fathers returned day after day to the Lords or the Commons and passed the same bills that continued to benefit the rich at the expense of the poor.
“You think I am like another patroness,” Alexandra said. “Picking and choosing the worthy poor as a spectacle of rampant narcissism. Don’t you?”
