Chapter 30
Thirty
The next day, as the three of us rode in Lord Brookhaven’s carriage, I thought about the need, the many children with no home, no safe place or safe people on whom they could depend. It was overwhelming.
I was a girl who daydreamed and created stories in my head, and I loved teaching.
I wasn’t a director of an orphanage, an organizer, or political figure.
I never imagined being in charge of a dozen adults or a hundred children.
I didn’t want to disappoint anyone, but I wasn’t sure I could be what they all seemed to expect me to be. But wasn’t this all my idea?
The truth was, I’d rather be at home playing games with Joshua and Sarah, Samuel and Annabelle, making sure they were happy and well taken care of. After all they’d been through in their young lives, I just wanted to see them joyful and healthy.
But wasn’t it good and right to save as many children from the street as I could? Lady Derringer and Lord Brookhaven were helping me, so I wasn’t all on my own.
Mr. Johnson met us at the entrance of his home for boys, greeting us warmly and taking us on a tour of his facility.
“As you can see,” Mr. Johnson said, “we have space that is not being used. We just need more funds to make the south and east wings of the building livable—repairing the roof and the windows, mostly. And then we will need the additional funds to hire more staff and provide food and necessities for the new boys.”
“Do you use an application system for admitting the children?”
“No.” Mr. Johnson looked even more serious.
“We do have a waiting list, since we don’t have the availability because of lack of funds to admit every boy who comes to us, but they are admitted on a first-come basis.
No one is excluded because he couldn’t get enough votes.
” By the expression on his face, he disapproved of the practice.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” I said, “what made you get involved in starting a home for orphaned boys?”
“You might well wonder, as I grew up a younger son of the Baron of Glenwood—spoiled and rather unruly, if I’m honest. I always intended to make the church my profession, but I was put off by the hypocritical clergy I met.
I saw them as not particularly pious, too lazy for good deeds, and seeking an easy life.
Forgive me, but this was my observation.
I decided to go to London and seek out the greatest need, and I found it when I saw all the children begging.
If there was ever a plight that needed to be addressed, it was that of the children living on the streets.
I have no very good opinion of any so-called man of God who could ignore orphans in need. ”
I did agree, but there was something rote about the way he told the story, as if he’d written it down and memorized it.
But far be it from me to judge Mr. Johnson. He was certainly doing good work, housing these boys, some as young as three years old, who would otherwise have nowhere to go. And with winter coming in a few months, I imagined the gusty, cold winds and the first snowstorm.
Thank you, God, I prayed silently, that I was able to bring Sarah and Joshua safely into my home.
In my mind I saw them shivering in the cold, with no one to care for them or feed them or give them warm clothes.
No fire to sit beside when the snow began to fall, their little cheeks red and chapped, their toes turning dark with frostbite.
Tears pricked my eyes, and I shook myself mentally to drive those thoughts away as Lady Derringer spoke to Mr. Johnson about his patrons and donors and the monetary amount it would take to get the rest of the building equipped to house children.
Lady Derringer also asked about buildings he might know of that we might consider in our search for a home for girls.
And before I knew it, we had a tentative agreement with Mr. Johnson to partner with him.
He’d be in charge of the boys’ home, and we would work toward getting a girls’ home prepared.
We observed the boys going through their day, groups of them being instructed in various trades.
The younger ones were led to the dining hall, one woman leading ten little ones, around four years old.
One of them was crying but no one seemed to take any notice.
Again, tears welled in my eyes. Was I to put Joshua here?
And was Sarah to be housed in a similar place? How could I bear it?
Oh, I knew they were better off here than on the street. But this . . . this wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted them with me, in my home, where I could watch over them and be sure they were well and happy, where I could wipe away their tears and make sure they didn’t feel lonely or left out or ignored.
But I was no longer an heiress, a woman of fortune who could do what she wished, including taking in and providing for orphan children. I’d have no choice but to put my sweet little Joshua and Sarah in an orphanage.
I thought of how my heart ached when I caught sight of Lord Brookhaven carrying little Joshua in his arms and how tenderly he’d carried him to his bed and laid him there, cradling his head until it rested on the pillow.
My mind had flown to thoughts of him as my husband, and the children as our children, along with Samuel and Annabelle.
Sometimes, the way he looked at me, I was sure he felt as I did, that he wanted me as much as I wanted him.
Then why didn’t he ask me to marry him? No, I must be mistaken.
Besides, even if he did wish to marry me, he probably wouldn’t wish to adopt orphans who were wholly unrelated to him. He was an earl, after all.
Lady Derringer seemed to have a new person for us to meet every day, and often we went with Mr. Johnson to speak to various wealthy donors and influential people.
One evening we went to a dinner party with Mr. Johnson, where one of his largest donors, Lady Creekmore, had gathered some of her friends to hear a presentation.
“And you may be asked to say a few words about the girls’ home,” Lady Derringer had said.
“Me? I wouldn’t know what to say.” Surely they wouldn’t want me to speak to a roomful of strangers when we did not even have a building yet.
“Who better to do it than you? You have already taken in two children. There is no one as passionate as you are about helping the orphan children of London.”
“But . . . you should do it, Lady Derringer. You have more experience speaking in front of ladies and gentlemen.”
“Never mind about that. You will do very well. You are young and pretty.” She smiled in a conspiratorial way.
Lord Brookhaven, who was standing nearby but who I hoped wasn’t listening, turned and glared at Lady Derringer. She paid no attention to him at all.
Mr. Johnson was sober and serious, as usual, and I began to wonder if he ever laughed.
He seemed to pay quite a lot of attention to me.
And when we gave him a ride in our carriage back to the boys’ home where he lived in a single room on the topmost floor, he asked me quite a few questions about where I grew up and what I had done since coming to London.
Meanwhile, Lord Brookhaven sat in the corner of the carriage with a scowl on his face.
Well, he couldn’t object. He didn’t want me. He might as well let someone else ask me enough questions to decide whether or not he wished to marry me. For that was just what I suspected Mr. Johnson was doing.
Sure enough, the next day, Mr. Johnson came during calling hours. I was surprised, as no one ever called on me now that it was known that I was no longer in possession of a fortune.
I had tea with him in the sitting room, asking my poor housekeeper, Mrs. Bingham, to keep us company, since I no longer had a chaperone.
We talked of the children, mostly, and I asked him about his childhood.
It could hardly have been more different from mine, since he’d had a mother who constantly worried about him and followed him around.
“And how does she feel about your work here in London with the children?” I asked.
“She thinks it is something I will tire of and will leave London and find some country parish to settle down in. But of course you understand, Miss Robbins, that this is the work that I have chosen to do for my entire life. I don’t intend to ever do anything else.”
I nodded as if I did indeed understand, but for the last few weeks, I’d realized more and more that I truly did not wish to spend my life in an orphanage, overseeing scores or even hundreds of children, never feeling as if I was giving any one of them enough attention or love.
“Miss Robbins, I know that you will make a wonderful wife,” Mr. Johnson was saying.
“And because of your charitable heart and work, I know that you shall make me, in particular, an excellent wife. And that is why I ask you to marry me, to join with me in doing God’s work here in London, so that we may encourage each other in this good work that God has planned for us to do. ”
It was the Bible verse that I had quoted to myself when I decided I was meant to help the orphaned children of London. Was it a sign that indeed I was meant to marry the clergyman Gabriel Johnson?
“I think . . . I need to think about it.”
Mrs. Bingham was bent over the mending in her lap, pretending to work, her face bright red.
“You would have your own home,” he went on.
“I’d find a place—not as grand as this but adequate—for ourselves and the children God would bless us with in the future.
But you don’t have to give me an answer now.
Consider it carefully, but more importantly, pray for God to show you his will.
You will come to the same conclusion I have come to, which is that God has brought you here for such a time as this, so that we might serve him together. ”
When he left, I went up to my room and knelt beside my bed to pray.
But every time I tried to imagine being married to Mr. Johnson, a pervasive sadness washed over me.
I imagined spending every day among a sea of children being herded here and there.
I imagined my husband coming home late and leaving early, telling me that we were doing God’s will and must ignore our own desires.
I imagined feeling as if I mattered very little to my husband, that his work would always be more important to him than I was.
God, is that what you want from me? Do you want me to lay down my life for London’s orphans?
But how could I bear to see them needing comfort and love and receiving instead only food and clothing and shelter?
Wanting to save them all just made me feel overwhelmed and despondent.
Worse, the thought of leaving my Sarah and Joshua in a large group home made my heart feel as if it was breaking in two.
But perhaps Mr. Johnson would agree to allow them to live in our home and I could still be their mother.
Lord Brookhaven’s face rose unbidden in my thoughts, and I imagined us at Lowndesbury House, the children around us, running and playing and laughing.
If God wanted me to marry Gabriel Johnson and dedicate my life to housing the orphans of London, then that was what I must do. But would I be able to forget Lord Brookhaven?
William was on his way from his tailors’ when a lady stepped out of a shop just in front of him.
“Oh. Lord Brookhaven.” Letitia—Lady Wexford—stood grinning at him. She was so close he couldn’t avoid her.
“Good morning,” he said, tipping his hat to her. He made as if to walk around her, but she placed her hand on his arm. He pulled his arm away and took a step back.
“Cannot we speak for a moment?” She sounded innocent, but he knew not to trust her.
“What do you want?”
People were walking all around them, one or two of them turning to look. He would need to get this over with as quickly as possible.
“Don’t be uncivil,” she said, poking out her bottom lip as if she were a child.
“I merely wanted to put you on your guard. I have heard the gossips saying that you have made Miss Charlotte Robbins your paramour—that the fifty-thousand-pound fortune she inherited was not inherited at all, but that you gave her that exorbitant sum. Of course I told them they were mistaken, for if you had made her your paramour, then one of your own closest friends would not have asked the woman to marry them. There. You are welcome for my kind assistance.”
He glared at her. Words bubbled to the surface. It took all his willpower to hold them in check. But his brief silence seemed to give her permission to continue.
“I do hope we can be friends. Surely you have forgiven me by now. In fact, you are most welcome to come to see me in Mayfair. Lord Wexford is away in the country for a few days, and I’ve been a bit . . . lonely.” She leaned toward him.
He shouldn’t have been surprised by her words. Perhaps he should even have expected her to say something of the kind. Nevertheless, speech failed him, and he only mumbled, “Good day.”
He walked briskly away, feeling as though he had just escaped being trampled by a runaway horse and carriage.
As he walked, it was as if a thick London fog had lifted and what had been obscured for years was suddenly clear.
He’d been so bitter about how Letitia had treated him, her betrayal and deception when she’d professed undying love for him, her utter disregard for his feelings, that he’d let it cloud his judgment and keep him from happiness.
How could he have even compared Letitia to Charlotte? There was no comparison. One was cold and cruel and the other was everything good and kind and empathetic.
He nearly laughed as he quickened his pace. He had to plan what he would say, how to beg Charlotte to forgive him for exposing her to gossip. And how to beg her to forgive him for not making her his wife months ago, when he first fell in love with her.