The carriage rolled through the cobbled London streets and Laura felt her heart sink all the lower. Yes, she was looking forward to seeing the girls again, but she was farther than ever from the Duke and Elouise.

“Here we are,” Lady Alice said, softly. “I confess, my dear girl, that I do not want to be parted from you, but that time has now come.” Reaching forward, she pressed Laura’s hands for a moment. “You have become a very dear friend to me and this is not to be goodbye. We shall see each other again, very soon.”

Laura tried to smile but found that she could not. Despite Lady Alice’s assurances, she felt spirits sink all the lower, knowing that soon Lady Alice would be caught up in society’s whirlwind and unable to spare even a moment to call upon the orphanage.

“May I wish you the very best with your search for a suitable gentleman,” she said, a little dully. “I pray it is successful.”

Lady Alice blushed. “Thank you, Laura. I am sure it will be. Elouise will have a new uncle very soon.”

Swallowing her sob, Laura turned towards the open door of the carriage and, with a final squeeze of Lady Alice’s hand, stepped out of the carriage door and looked up at the old, dirty building of the orphanage.

“Thank you for all of your kindness, Lady Alice,” she said, turning away from it. “Should you wish to write to me, you know where I will be.” She said this with only a small flicker of hope but Lady Alice nodded fervently.

“Of course I will,” Lady Alice said, hastily, leaning out of the carriage after her. “I do not want our friendship to come to a close, Laura, even though you may think so. I will not be tossed about by all manner of things within society but, instead, shall ensure that I keep my wits about me and remind myself that what matters most is the state of one’s heart.” She smiled at Laura, her eyes filling. “I have learned that from you. To have kindness, compassion, and love in one’s heart is better than anything on the outside. You are my inspiration, my dear friend, and do not think for one moment that I intend to forget you.” A single tear slid down her cheek, landing on the cobblestones below the carriage. “I shall write just as often as I can.”

Now believing that Lady Alice would do just as she said, Laura felt her own tears come in earnest. “Thank you, Lady Alice,” she said, hoarsely. “I will reply to you when I can, of course.”

“Good.” Picking up her reticule, Lady Alice pulled something out of her bag and handed it to Laura. It was money. A good deal of money.

Laura shook her head. “No, Lady Alice, I cannot take this.”

“Yes, you can,” Lady Alice said, firmly. “And you will. If not to spend on yourself, then to spend on your girls. You must take care of both yourself and them. I will send you some more next quarter. Be sure of it.”

Laura wanted to refuse, wanted to say no but in her mind’s eye, saw the new clothes she could buy the girls, the decent food she might be able to purchase once in a while, under Mary Sander’s nose.

“Thank you, Lady Alice,” she whispered, looking up at her friend. “I know the girls here will appreciate this.”

Lady Alice smiled, looking relieved. “You are more than welcome, my dear. Write to me soon. I will miss your company.”

That said, the door was closed, the horses moved, and the carriage rolled away, carrying Lady Alice with it. Laura waved as she watched, hating to see it move away and carry so many of her memories with it.

Turning back to the orphanage, she looked down at her bags and, with a heavy sigh, picked them up as best she could before staggering towards the house. This was the life she had to become used to again. There would be no more footmen to aid her with such things, no maids to come with trays of tea, cakes, and biscuits. Instead, she would have to be all things to all people, doing all she could to keep the girls as happy and as content as could be.

One step inside the orphanage told her that all was not well.

The place was deathly silent, her footsteps echoing on the creaky wooden floor.

“Hello?” she called, wandering towards the kitchen and hoping the cook was there. “Hello? Mary? Helen?”

There came no answer. Peeking around the kitchen door, she saw the cook hard at work, busy chopping onions or something similar.

“Ah, cook, good to see you,” she exclaimed, hurrying forward. “how have you been since I went away?”

The cook looked up and Laura saw that her face was pale with bloodshot eyes.

“Glory be,” the cook whispered, putting the knife down and coming towards Laura. “Glory be, it is you.”

She caught Laura’s hands and held them tightly, her eyes filling with bright, shining tears. “Oh, it’s just been terrible, Miss Laura. I was praying and praying you’d come back here.”

Laura’s gut wrenched as the cook urged her to sit down, still holding her hands all the while.

“Where are the girls?” Laura asked, hoarsely, wondering why it was all so quiet. “Where have they gone?”

“They’ll be back afore long,” the cook said, getting up from her chair. “Miss Sanders has started taking them to Smithfield Market, down the far end nearer to the gentry.” She twisted her lips, her displeasure evident. “They’ve got to sell their own wares now and look as sad as possible in doing it.”

Laura caught her breath, her eyes widening. “What?” she whispered, as the cook bustled about. “But the girls always did their embroidery and the like here, and then Mary would sell it herself. Why has she taken them to the streets?”

The cook shook her head, lifting the corner of her apron to wipe at her eyes before handing Laura a cup with a small chip and then setting the teapot and milk jug on the roughhewn table. “She thought they might be able to make a little bit more money, what with their sad eyes and sorry tales.” She sat back down and continued to cut up the potatoes. “And she was right. You should see the new hat she’s bought herself.”

Laura could hardly take this in, her breath catching in her chest as she stared at the cook, wanting it all desperately to be some kind of dream.

“I should have come back sooner.”

The cook shook her head. “This ain’t your fault, Miss Laura. None of it is. It’s all that Mary Sanders, and well you know it.”

“But what about Helen?” Laura asked, desperately. “She was always a good sort, able to understand what the girls needed. I thought she’d do awfully well.”

A long, heavy sigh escaped the cook. “Helen’s a foolish girl. As soon as Miss Sanders realized that Helen wasn’t about to do what she wanted, she managed to find her another position. A better position in fact, so that no-one could say that Mary Sanders didn’t take care of her staff.” She lifted one eyebrow in Laura’s direction. “But, of course, if that had been you, you’d have seen what Miss Sanders was up to and would have refused to go – but that ain’t Helen. She saw the money and saw the house and agreed almost at once! Them girls have been on their own ever since.”

Laura sipped her tea and tried to think carefully. “What has Mary been doing?”

“All sorts,” the cook replied, hacking at the potatoes with a little more force than was needed. “Getting them to stay up all hours to get as much embroidery done as possible. Doesn’t seem to notice when they miss meals and if one of them gets caught crying about something or other, they’re given a sharp slap and warned to keep their tears for the streets.” She grimaced and shook her head, her eyes narrowing. “There’s been many a girl coming back from selling their wares with red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks – but with all their embroidery gone. Miss Sanders can see that it works, too. That’s why she’s keeping on doing it.”

Laura took in a breath and let it shudder out of her, trying her best to think calmly.

“I ain’t saying that Miss Sanders is thinking of getting rid of you too, Miss Laura, but I’d be careful around her,” the cook finished, looking at her carefully. “She’s a changed woman, that Miss Sanders, that’s for sure, but those girls need you, Miss Laura. They need you more than ever before.”

“I’m glad I came back,” Laura whispered, half to herself. “My poor, poor girls.”

––––––––

Two hours later and Laura walked into the girls’ shared bedroom, her eyes taking in each and every face. The girls, as one, rose to their feet with clamoring voices, all trying to get near her at once. Tears flowed down almost every face as Laura embraced them all, one at a time, taking in their pale cheeks, their sorrowful eyes, their dull, tired expressions.

“Elouise is going to stay with the Duke,” she explained when the girls looked at her expectantly. “He is adopting her.”

There wasn’t even a hint of jealousy as the girls expressed their delight that Elouise would have a happier life than she had ever had here. They had all known – and sympathized – with just how upset she had been.

“I am sorry to hear that Miss Sanders has been treating you so badly,” Laura said gently, brushing the blonde hair out of Mary’s face, the youngest child at the orphanage at only three years of age. “You have not all had to go out, have you?”

The eldest girl, Betty, who was twelve, nodded her head. “I’ve had Mary and Rosemary to take care of, Miss Laura,” she explained, talking about the two youngest girls. “They stand with me and help sell whatever we have.”

Laura closed her eyes for a moment, feeling a spurt of anger race through her. “That won’t be happening any longer, I promise. Things will go back to how they were before.”

Unfortunately, that did not bring a smile to any of the girl's faces.

“I ain’t so sure Miss Sanders will like that idea, Miss Laura,” Betty said, slowly. “She’s treated us different these last few weeks and seems to be enjoying it too. I don’t think she’s going to want to give it all up just because you say so.”

Laura knew that she was only in Miss Sanders’s employ and that she did not have any particular clout, but neither could she just let Miss Sanders continue to treat the girls in such a disgraceful way. They deserved the best life that they could have, even in an orphanage, and that didn’t mean standing on street corners trying to flog their wares.

“Don’t worry,” she promised, seeing a flare of hope in Betty’s eyes. “I’ll think of something. I have arranged to speak to Miss Sanders this evening and, hopefully, by then, I’ll have something in mind to put a stop to all of this. I just need you to trust me.”

The girls nodded, smiles appearing on some small faces. Their trust in her brought an ache to her heart as well as a growing frustration that she could not do more for them.

“I will think of something,” she whispered again, before hugging the girls close once more.