Chapter Twenty
Augustus—
I will be in the cellar all afternoon, quite alone, canning preserves for the winter. Last year, when I undertook the same task, I saw not a soul for six hours, at least.
Olivia
*
Olivia—
This year, I do not believe you will be so lucky.
Augustus
*
Olivia—
How will I ever eat raspberry jam again without throwing a raging cockstand? I wish I could blame you for such corruption of my body and soul, but the experiment was, after all, my idea.
Augustus
*
Augustus—
Mrs. Phelps would surely murder me if she knew how I failed to protect her priceless jam. But how can I be sorry? I only hope that no one heard us. I am sure, with a less talented lover, I would have been able to be more circumspect. But it seems that such good fortune has evaded me and I am condemned to be indiscreet.
Olivia
*
Augustus—
I received your gift. It is far too fine for me and I insist you take it back. Such a valuable item could easily be stolen from my room. Also, I have no occasion to wear such a thing. In the house, of course, it would only arouse suspicion.
Olivia
*
Olivia—
The necklace can only be yours. But if you fear it being thieved or causing too much notice, then give it to me tonight and I will guard it for you.
I hate that I must leave London tomorrow. To be parted from you for a week will be agony. I wish there was some way to take you with me, but, as you’ve said, it is impossible. I know I am being exceedingly foolish to feel the separation so extremely. Especially when we have tonight and, after all, we will only be apart a week.
Augustus
*
“I am verysorry,” Augustus murmured, as they waited in the entryway for Willa. She had dashed up to her room to collect a few things that she wanted to bring the children. “My sister—she is very passionate about her work.”
“You do not need to apologize. Her dedication is admirable. In fact, I cannot tell you how much I admire it.”
It was true. Olivia had been seized, when Willa had mentioned the orphanage, by a desire to see the place again. In fact, since her return from London, the possibility had circulated in her mind, beneath the thrum of her day-to-day activities and her new relationship with Augustus. That Augustus’s own sister was going there this afternoon—there could be no more certain sign that she should revisit it.
“I only hope you will not be bored or think less of me when you see where I come from,” she said, in a whisper, “Although, perhaps, you have already been to the place.”
“I am ashamed to confess that I have not. My sister possesses a much purer soul than I do, I assure you. And if I were to think less of you for such a thing, then I would be a very unworthy man indeed. Unworthy of any woman, but especially of you.”
His eyes burned as he said the words and she felt heat trail from her bodice downward. He had a way of being so ardent, so convincing in his esteem for her, that he actually made a marriage between them seem possible. He made it seem plausible, even when she knew it was a ridiculous dream.
She heard Willa’s step and she looked away from him, breaking the moment. Augustus nodded at his sister when she appeared and they all set out together. The air was extremely cold, and the day had clouded. The orphanage was only five streets away and they hurried in the frigid air.
“If it wasn’t incredibly late in the season for such a thing, I would swear that it is about to snow,” Augustus said, looking up at the sky.
“If it begins, we should have to go back,” Willa said, nodding. “But hopefully it will not. I was hoping for a long visit today with the children.”
“What are your usual activities at the orphanage, Lady Willa?” Olivia asked, still somewhat astonished that this high-born young woman spent time with the lowest citizens of London. In her time at the orphanage, she could remember no such thing.
“I fear that I am very little help,” Willa said, shaking her head. “I mostly play with the children and give them lessons. I don’t have any of the practical skills that so many of them will need to learn for employment, although I can teach them letters and figures. We go over geography and history, too, as best we can.”
“I remember that one of the proprietresses, Mrs. Fairfax, insisted that all the children learn their letters. I have her to thank for the little formal education that I have received. It was not until I was an adult that I realized how grateful I should be for what she taught me. The ability to read and write is one skill that many poor orphans never learn.”
“You knew Mrs. Fairfax?”
“Yes,” Olivia said, surprised that the name would mean anything to Willa. “But she died years ago, from what I understand.”
“Her daughter, Miss Fairfax, is now in her mother’s place. She took it when she was still quite young herself.”
“Ah, how wonderful,” Olivia said, happy that someone there would have a connection to the place as she had once known it. “I remember now that she did have a daughter, about five years younger than myself, although I never met her. Are you and Miss Fairfax friends?”
Willa nodded. “Oh, yes. She is half the reason I have been any use to the orphanage at all. She has told me what is needed and allowed me to share my meager talents. I am always in awe of her. She knows exactly what the children need.”
“Miss Fairfax is one of Willa’s very best friends,” Augustus supplied. “We have had her to tea, have we not, Willa? Mother is quite fond of her.”
They had arrived at the orphanage, which with its brick fa?ade, large green doors, and unmarked entrance, looked largely as it had when Olivia had lived there.
“This way,” Willa said, leading them down an alleyway and through a back entrance that Olivia also recalled, albeit dimly.
They entered through the kitchens. The frenzy of the staff as they prepared the midday meal was familiar to her. The vats of soup they stirred and hunks of brown bread they sliced had not seemed to change a bit.
But when they exited the kitchens and gained the dining room, Olivia was shocked to see how different it looked. She struggled to believe it was the same place.
It had been a grim place when she was a child. The long wooden tables and benches had been gray and gutted, the bare stone walls of the room oppressive. The thin windows, of which there were only a few, let in little light.
By comparison, the room she entered now shone. A large chandelier hanging from the ceiling illuminated the space. The tables were new and handsome. Instead of benches, there was now a little chair for each child. The room boasted beautiful tapestries, depicting scenes from Aesop’s Fables; the animals were depicted in vivid colors. She suspected they could be stared at for hours and not lose their fascination.
“How it has changed!” Olivia exclaimed.
“It is all due to Miss Fairfax,” Willa began, but the rest of her response was drowned out by a sudden noise—the clamor, Olivia realized, of many small feet. The doors on the far wall burst open and in flowed the children. While their outfits were still the same plain pinafores and trousers, the former of which she had worn herself, she did note that the children looked better fed than in her day. Their hair was glossier, their limbs plumper. They looked less neglected and more like little creatures who were having something akin to a childhood.
The children clambered happily into their seats and, at the same time, the opposite doors swung open. The staff from the kitchen entered, carrying the tureens of soup and trays of brown bread. Olivia watched as they served the children, portioning the soup into familiar little wooden bowls. However, she noted that, unlike when she had been here, they kept the tureens on the table, and the children who gulped down the hot soup quickly were able to reach for seconds. That was novel.
So absorbed was Olivia in watching the meal that she did not notice they had been approached by a young woman with dark, almost-black, hair and blue eyes.
“Miss Fairfax,” Augustus said to the woman, “Please let me introduce you to Miss Watson. She heard of my sister’s work here and wanted to visit immediately. She has been in France many years, but she grew up here in London—in fact, in this very place.”
Miss Fairfax gasped at this news and turned towards Olivia. Her freckled cheeks were animated with a high spirit that caused Olivia to smile instinctively.
“Welcome, Miss Watson. It is not often that we receive visits from those who grew up here.”
“No, I expect not,” Olivia said, “Although I must say that the place is more cheerful than I remember it. Even then, however, there were those who did the best for us orphans. I believe I knew your mother, Miss Fairfax. She was a godsend for me, back then. The kindness she showed me is a debt I could never repay.”
Miss Fairfax seemed unable to respond for a moment—and Olivia could have sworn she saw a sheen come over her eyes. But just as quickly, she blinked, and her cheerful smile was back.
“That would have meant the world to my mother to hear, Miss Watson, I am sure. She loved the children under her care very much. Her devotion inspired me to take up the same work. I couldn’t stand the idea of her legacy languishing.”
Olivia opened her mouth to respond but found herself interrupted by the pull of a small hand on her skirts.
“Annabelle!” exclaimed Miss Fairfax. “That is a very rude way to greet out visitor.”
“But who is she, Miss Fairfax?”
A crowd of curious children had now gathered around Olivia.
“I am Olivia Watson,” she said to the little girl, “I used to be a child here, just like you.”
“Lor! No!” said the little girl, “Not really!”
“But you look so fine now,” said an older girl, of eight or nine, “You couldn’t have been one of us.”
“I was, I promise you,” Olivia said, embarrassed to be speaking so frankly about herself. “I can tell you about every nook and cranny of this place. I know that the best perch is at the very top, in the attic, where you can see the street from above, and that the best place to hide is in the cellars, near the potato sacks. I used to eat brown bread and soup just like you and be happy, on Christmas, when we would get a pudding.”
“Zounds! You really did live here,” said a tiny girl with red hair.
“We get a pudding every week now,” said a boy, “But a special one on Christmas.”
“I am very glad to hear it.”
“But then how did you get so fine?” said the same older girl, her tone still skeptical.
Olivia paused, unsure of how to explain her trajectory. “First, I worked as a maid for an old widow, which was very hard work. And then I worked in a very large house, in the same house Lady Willa lives in, cleaning for the family. Then, I was hired as a lady’s companion by a woman who lived in France.”
“Have you been to Paris?” said the older girl, her eyes wide. “Lady Willa told us about Paris.”
“I’ve lived there.”
The girl gaped at this revelation.
From the crowd, a very tiny boy approached Augustus and pulled on his leg.
“Up!” he exclaimed to him. Olivia laughed at this familiarity—the boy must be quite bold to approach a strange man so imperiously.
Augustus scooped him up and the boy climbed on his shoulders.
“Me too! Me too!” The crowd of children began to shout. Soon, Olivia was watching as Augustus lifted the children onto his shoulders and twirled them and held them upside down in the cavernous space. The time passed without her realizing it. As the children completed their meals, she watched as they formed themselves into groups for little games on the stone floors. Many pulled out tidy sets of marbles, showing that this activity was a common pastime.
“It is snowing, Augustus, we should leave.”
Olivia turned and realized the words had been spoken by Willa.
“No!” cried the little boy who had been next to ride atop Augustus’s shoulders, “Please, sir, don’t go yet.”
Olivia and Augustus looked out the window at the same moment. Snow was falling gently.
“Surely, we can stay a bit longer,” she said to Augustus.
He smiled and turned towards his sister. “Let us stay for another half hour. We are so close to home.”
As Augustus continued to amuse the children, Olivia leaned towards Miss Fairfax.
“I must admire what you have done with this room, Miss Fairfax. Willa tells me it was your doing.”
“Willa is too kind. While I will admit that it was my design, it never could have been done without the support of Lord Montaigne. He is here often with Lady Willa and he provided the funds.”
Olivia startled. Augustus had told her that he had never set foot in the place. There must be some mistake.
“He told me that he has never before come to the orphanage.”
Miss Fairfax laughed. “You must be mistaken, Miss Watson. While I will admit that he is not here as frequently as Lady Willa, he has been here many times. You see how the children know him well.”
Olivia did not understand. Why would he have lied to her about such a thing? He certainly couldn’t think that she would have thought worse of him.
“Of course, it was Willa who first came here and who convinced her brother,” Miss Fairfax continued, oblivious to her distress. Olivia noticed the way her eyes shone when she mentioned Willa.
“Lord Montaigne and the Dowager Countess say that they can hardly keep Lady Willa away from the place. She seems quite devoted.”
“Willa is a marvel. Quite a few Mayfair aristocrats give donations to our cause here, but only the Carringtons ever visit. And I am sure that, as good as her ladyship is, we wouldn’t receive half as much attention from them, if it weren’t for Willa. She has a rare heart. She is a special person, although many in her world don’t see it.” Miss Fairfax paused and seemed to catch herself. “Of course, I don’t know anything about that. My work is here. I shouldn’t blather.”
Olivia merely smiled in response. She was very certain Miss Fairfax spoke of what she understood quite well. She and Willa were clearly good friends—but Olivia was beginning to suspect something more than friendship between the two women. Augustus had mentioned that Willa did not like to attend ton events, preferring her charitable endeavors. Olivia had to wonder if she also preferred the company of Miss Fairfax to that of society suitors.
In Paris, she had known women who lived together as though they were man and wife. She wondered if Willa and Miss Fairfax…She shook her head. She presumed too much, undoubtedly.
Willa rushed back into the room. “It has begun to snow quite ferociously. We should be leaving or else I am unsure how we will get back.”
Olivia glanced towards the thin windows and noticed that, indeed, the flurries had been replaced by a storm of white.
“You must come back, Miss Watson,” said Miss Fairfax, “You are welcome with Willa or without her any time.”
Olivia’s throat constricted at the invitation. She had never thought she would want to regularly return to the orphanage—a lone visit to see the place once more was all that she had ever contemplated. But now, oddly, it seemed appealing. Unable to speak, she nodded at Miss Fairfax, who had just seen Willa gesture to her from the corner. She bowed and followed the call. When Miss Fairfax reached her, Olivia watched the two women speak to each other in hurried, lowered tones.
“Would you want to return? Here?”
She turned. Augustus had made his way to her side. His voice was quiet but clear, even in the din created by so many children’s voices.
“Yes, very much. But you weren’t honest with me, before. You said you had never been here. Miss Fairfax says you have visited many times.”
Augustus dropped her gaze and coughed. “I do not know why I said that. It was foolish. Miss Fairfax is right—I have been here before.”
“Why would you hide it? Surely, you do not think that I, of all people, could think less of you.”
“It is not that, exactly. It is just not—men don’t usually do such things. Men of my station, least of all. I was not sure how to explain.”
He paused.
“And that is not all. When Willa started coming here and she told me the name, I realized that it was the same orphanage where you had grown up. The first time I came, I told myself that I did not do so for you. But because I wanted to be a better person, less of an aristocratic wastrel.”
He smiled, that roguish dimple flashing in his cheek. He looked embarrassed and, yet, somehow, smug, too.
“I think I had almost convinced myself that it was true. But today, when you asked me if I had ever been here before, I realized that, of course, it was a lie. I came here because I wanted to feel closer to you. It felt like too much to confess.”
The air between them was heavy with so many things. Happiness, yes, and desire. But also something deeper. In this moment, standing here with him, a future with him felt more possible than it ever had. She could imagine them coming to this place together, working to make it better, working to improve the lives of the children that depended on it—maybe, even, coming here one day with children of their own. Their children could grow to understand that family had many meanings and that kinship and solidarity did not end at the walls of their Mayfair townhouse. That this place had shaped their mother and was as much theirs, as much a part of their history, as the bulky portraits and mansions and wealth of the Carrington name.
She felt an urge to kiss him. She was only able to temper the impulse when she considered their surroundings.
To stem such thoughts, she turned away from him slightly and let her gaze drift back to Willa and Miss Fairfax.
“Ah,” Augustus said next to her, “So you have noticed.”
“What do you mean?”
“That my sister is in love with Miss Fairfax.”
Ah, she thought. She had not assumed too much, it appeared.
“Does Miss Fairfax return her sentiments?”
“That I cannot say. And I have not yet found the right time to ask my sister about it.”
“Miss Fairfax fairly glows when she talks about Willa.”
“It’s true. I hope it indicates more feeling than friendship. I couldn’t bear for Willa to be disappointed.”
They stood there, for a moment, contemplating the two women. The way their bodies curved towards one another, their eager smiles—Olivia felt sure that more had to exist between them. She couldn’t discern, however, whether they were already lovers or had not yet revealed their mutual passion.
Olivia watched as Willa clasped her friend’s hand in parting and then she gestured towards herself and Augustus. It was time to leave. They followed her to the door.
In the street, the snow was already falling thickly, clouding their vision. Augustus offered an arm to both herself and Willa and they walked as quickly as they could through the streets back to Carrington Place. They didn’t speak to one another except to exclaim at the snow. They had to focus on the path ahead and be careful not to collide with the many rushing passerby bent on their own blurry paths through the cold.
Finally, shivering, they reached Carrington Place once more, where they swept inside. There, they were greeted by Mrs. Phelps, thirteen years older than Olivia remembered her, but just as plump and kindly. When the older woman saw her, she exclaimed, “Miss Watson! They said you were here, but I could hardly believe it.”
Olivia reached out and took the woman’s hand, unable to resist doing so after the absence of so many years. Standing now in her presence, she felt that she had not done justice, in her memory, to the stern kindness of this woman. She had forgotten how maternal she had always been towards her, lenient with her where she was not with the others.
“It is really me, I assure you, Mrs. Phelps. And it is so good to see you again.”
“You’ve come back to London and look at how it treats you. Snow! Everywhere. And at this time of year, too, when you might suspect we are well past it.”
“Mrs. Phelps, I am quite worried about Miss Watson—and Lady Willa, catching cold. I am sure Miss Watson is soaked through,” Augustus broke in. “Would you be able to procure her warm clothing and a place to set herself to rights? Afterward, we’ll have a fire and a cup of tea in the drawing room.”
“Oh, but I should return to Bloomsbury,” Olivia exclaimed, not wanting Mrs. Phelps or any of the Carringtons to go to any trouble for her. “If the carriage—”
“Miss Watson, you cannot think that we would let you go all the way back to Bloomsbury soaked through as you are,” Mrs. Phelps exclaimed, “And in this weather no less, which is getting worse at every moment. No, you must stay the night here with us.”
“It is exactly as Mrs. Phelps says,” Augustus echoed. “My mother would not allow for anything else. Please, Miss Watson.”
She looked up at him and saw the yearning, unvarnished, on his face. She felt drawn to that look of desire in the same way that she wanted to stay in these warm, comfortable rooms after facing the icy elements.
Mrs. Phelps gave a little cough. Olivia realized that she and Augustus had been staring at once another, without speaking, for far longer than was proper.
“I will put you in Lady Beatrice’s old bedroom,” Mrs. Phelps said, “That is the only one adequately turned out.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Phelps.”
“Of course, my dear,” she said, with a little curtesy followed by another little clasp of her hands, “Welcome back, Miss Watson.”