Chapter Nine #2
Phoebe’s heart sank a little. Not that she’d been hoping for him to be cherishing any romantic notions about her…
or rather, she had been hoping, but she’d known it was impossible.
She was small, with boring brown hair and eyes, and the only thing about her that would attract a gentleman would be her inheritance.
Perhaps she should be pleased that Lord Gabriel, even with his stated requirement for money, was not using this walk to press his suit.
Or maybe she should be sad he wasn’t, as it might be the only way she could win him.
And winning him was something she would very much like to do.
“I suppose so,” she said, a little despondently, as she watched a curricle bowl past them, presumably on its way to the park.
It was being driven by a gentleman who had a young lady by his side, her face wreathed in smiles.
No sign of a chaperoning maid for her though.
Phoebe mused over asking Gabriel if he had access to a similar vehicle. One that had no room for Atkins.
“You will be happy to know that those jewels you so kindly presented me with will provide my orphanage with enough wherewithal to keep my original house going and go a long way to setting up the second one I’ve acquired.
It’s to be in a house that came up on the same street.
So Violet will be able to run both establishments.
Which is just as well, as I’m rather out of action for the next couple of months regarding house breaking. One usually needs two arms for that.”
“I’m most pleased for you.” In fact, she was pleased on two counts. Pleased that she’d been able to contribute towards the orphanages, and pleased he would not be risking his safety by carrying out any other robberies.
They walked a little further. Now she’d been alerted to pay more attention to the less well-dressed on the street, Phoebe’s attention was caught by a small boy standing on the street corner holding a tray of bootlaces.
Every so often, he called out hopefully to passersby to look at his wares, but seemed to be having little success.
Curious, Phoebe watched. She’d probably passed children like this many times without a second glance, but now she felt it beholden on her to take a better look. The boy’s thin face and hands were clean, but his faded clothes were threadbare and worn and his boots had holes in the toes.
As she watched, a woman stopped and, after a moment’s consideration, took a set of laces from the child and handed over a single penny in payment. That wasn’t going to buy him much. Not that Phoebe had any idea how much food cost. Ribbons and fripperies, yes, but not food.
“That child,” Phoebe said, “would he be an orphan of the rookeries? The sort you might try to save?”
Gabriel looked. “He’s making some sort of a living with his tray of bootlaces, as you can see.
It suggests he is the face of someone’s business.
Many of these hawkers you see on the streets aren’t out selling for themselves, but for a master who provides them with somewhere to sleep and basic food.
He has boots. Even though they’re old and worn, and probably belonged to other boys before he had them.
That’s more than the poorest have, even in winter. ”
He paused as they passed the boy, waiting until they were out of his earshot. “You’re noticing him because I’ve told you about the poor. If you were walking this street with your cousin or your aunt, do you think you would still have paid attention to him?”
Phoebe bit her lip. “Perhaps not.” She shrugged. “Almost certainly not, I suppose.”
He waved his hand. “Look at the people on this street who are like you. Look at their fine clothes, the gowns the ladies wear. They come from warm and comfortable houses like yours. They don’t notice the poor any more than you used to.
See how many of them walk past the little street sellers and don’t even spare them a look. ”
Phoebe looked. Ahead, a little girl, who couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old, stood on the steps of the Grosvenor Chapel, clutching a tray of matches.
Her face, as thin as the boy’s, was pinched and pale whereas his had not been.
Her feet, by contrast with those of the boy, were wrapped only in rags, and the rest of her thin clothes were no better.
Phoebe shivered, the sight of the little girl serving to make her even more aware of the bitter February chill.
No one was taking any notice of her.
Nearby, a man was selling hot chestnuts from a cart with a brazier in it. Pulling her hand free from Gabriel’s arm, Phoebe hurried over to the man. She rummaged in her reticule for a few of the coins that were her pin money. “A bag of chestnuts, please.”
The man slid the hot chestnuts into a cone shaped paper and handed them over.
She gave him a thrup’ny bit and he tucked it away out of sight about his person.
Aware of Gabriel’s somewhat condescending scrutiny, she took the chestnuts to the little girl.
“Here. Hold these to make you warm and eat them up.”
The child regarded her out of wide frightened eyes. Had no one ever given her food before? She didn’t take the offered packet.
“Go on,” Phoebe said. “They’re good. Have you never tried them before?”
Behind her, Gabriel watched in silence, but the rest of the people on the street kept on walking past. None of them cast so much as a glance at the child.
Phoebe took a chestnut from the packet and had to take her gloves off to peel the hot shell away. Once she’d done it, she handed the fleshy kernel to the child. “Look. Here you are. They taste good.”
The child kept on staring, but still didn’t take the nut.
“She thinks you’re trying to poison her,” Gabriel said. “They’re warned against the gentry trying to steal them away as slaves.”
Phoebe sighed and put the chestnut in her own mouth. It tasted sweet and nutty and reminded her of long-ago days with Papa by the fire in the great hall at Coakham. “See?” she said, after she’d swallowed it. “It’s good.” She peeled another and handed that to the child.
A small, grubby hand was extended and the child took the chestnut between finger and thumb as though she feared it might bite her.
For a long moment she regarded it before gingerly popping it into her mouth.
Had she never tried one before? Phoebe had to suppose there weren’t many chestnut trees in London.
As she slowly chewed, an expression of delighted surprise brightened her pinched little face.
Phoebe peeled a second one for her and held it out, along with the bag.
“You can have them all. I bought them just for you.”
As though she feared the offer might be rescinded, the child almost snatched the bag from her hand and stowed it inside her ragged shawl, then popped the second chestnut into her mouth.
“Thank you, Miss.” Her response was muttered through a full mouth.
But whatever was she hiding the rest away for? “They’re all for you,” Phoebe tried. “You can eat them all. Right now.”
A hand settled on her arm. “She’ll have others she’ll want to share your largesse with, and who’ll appreciate them all the more,” Gabriel said. “Probably younger sisters or brothers, or an ailing mother. This child might well be their only breadwinner. Don’t worry, they’ll be appreciated.”
Phoebe stepped back, humbled. “But look at her. She’s so thin and her clothes aren’t enough to keep her warm. She must be freezing as well as starving.”
Gabriel nodded. “Underfed rather than truly starving, but no doubt if there are younger children in her family; they will be hungrier. Don’t frown on her for thinking of others.”
“I’m not, but I could buy more for her.”
“You could indeed.”
“Or I could give her money. That might be better. I have a guinea in my reticule. And some smaller change. It’s my pin money.”
“And someone would steal a coin of such a high value from her or her mother before they had chance to spend it, or accuse them of stealing it. Small change is better by far. Like the pennies she gets for her matches.”
Phoebe glowered at him, feeling unreasonably cross. “In that case I shall give her a florin’s worth, at least. I’m sure I have that much in small change.” She rummaged in her reticule to produce the coins then pressed them into the child’s hands. “Here, little one. This is for your mother.”
The coins disappeared into whatever inner pocket the child had, no doubt to share it with the hot chestnuts.
Gabriel laughed. “Salving your conscience is easy with money when you have an abundance of it. Those few coins mean little to you, but could mean life or death to a child like her.”
Phoebe chewed her lip, still cross with him but unsure what to say that would please him. “I’d like to help. I don’t want to be like all those others, just walking past and ignoring her.”
Gabriel’s expression was unreadable. “You like to think you’re different, I suppose.”
She bristled, fury rising. Why was he suddenly being so annoying? “I am different.”
“But until I told you about the poverty of these children you had no idea.” His tone was faintly mocking, and the glitter in his eyes told her he was perversely enjoying himself.
“No one had ever told me.” She could feel herself becoming defensive.
“I didn’t know.” She had a strong feeling that this wasn’t the way for him to go about recruiting her help, which she’d felt sure he might be going to do this morning.
Maybe he’d just invited her to the park so he could show her up and make her feel guilty and angry.
If that had been his intent, it was working.
He gave a short, rather condescending laugh, which did nothing to make her feel better. “A feeble excuse. You are a human being, are you not? You have eyes. You have ears.”