Chapter 15
London was a magnificent city. Truly, it was undeniable. It mattered not that the clouds of winter lowered over the vast metropolis. The teeming masses of people who went about their daily lives, walking from the growing suburbs into the city were a marvel.
Och, there was great poverty. Of that, she knew. For she was not like some of the ladies of the West End that never left their hallowed halls.
No, she couldn’t be such a one. To live in such ignorance? It was beyond her.
All her life, she’d grown in the knowledge that her privilege brought with it the necessity to care for those who had not been born to her status.
Coming to London had not changed that. How could it? Years of established teachings by her parents couldn’t be easily dismissed.
So, it had not been to the haberdashers or dressmakers that she had instructed the coachman and her new guard, a Mr. Thomas O’Malley, to take her. Och. No. It was to the East End and the Aid Society that she had immediately established.
It was a good thing she’d done it, too, for her new husband whom she had felt such admiration for was, indeed, never home. If she had relied upon him for her company, she would have been very lonely, indeed.
It had been rather astonishing how she had felt such a closeness to him and then how he had suddenly been away so very much. One might have thought the two were linked, but that would have been giving herself a great deal of importance.
But much to her good fortune, she had reached out to the Duchess of Blackstone and the Duchess of Harley, inviting them to partake in her venture. They had readily agreed.
While they had charities of their own, they’d seemed most happy to be included and considered helpful.
So, it had not been over tea and scones that they had become friends, but in the hiring of a building, workers, and the distribution of help to those who needed it most.
Especially since the height of winter was upon them.
Diana had found that the darker months, while sometimes joyous due to the merriment of Christmas, could be the hardest time for those in need. And she was determined to help as many as she could to fight the difficulties of the ensuing cold and winter nights.
Now, it might have occurred to her to stay in her London townhouse locked away from all society what with her brother. But she refused to be a prisoner and now he had no reason to see her done in. For, what could he gain? All her funds now would go to her husband. And she had the best protection possible.
No, life was for living. Not for sitting tucked away in fear. Besides it wasn’t as if she were being wool-brained, going about willy-nilly.
She took a good deal of care, as did O’Malley.
And in the little time they did have together, Max had begun teaching her how to use her wedding present with skill. If only for a few swift minutes a day. After all, he did always seem to be on his way to a very important meeting.
Diana leaned forward and looked out the window, still awed by the sight of Fleet Street.
How she loved it!
Coaches, carts, and riders choked the historic thoroughfare and she adored the sight of the newspaper men bustling about, their fingers stained with ink and their fashionable coats flapping about their lean persons.
She’d grown to love the nooks and crannies of the old city in a way that she felt few ladies could do.
It was the history of it, of course. For she had read so much that finally traveling down the roads in which such remarkable things had occurred for hundreds of years was positively thrilling.
Why, the sight of St. Paul’s left her in awe every time they did drive past.
It mattered not that all the other drivers seemed to be yelling and that the traffic was so great that they could move at but a snail’s pace.
It gave her time to think and to admire.
Finally, the buildings began to appear in a more dilapidated state, packed more closely together, the occupants attired in ratted costumes, sold again and again until the street urchins were able to purchase them in a tattered, patched state.
They did not go deep into the East End. The Seven Dials and Bethnel Green were not places a woman such as she could go, not even with O’Malley.
Or at least not yet.
She had a strong feeling that Max might struggle not to shake her if she did. For those were the sorts of places that people from the West End went in and might not come out again. . . at least not with their clothes.
The coach rumbled to a halt in front of one of the better kept buildings. It had been washed and painted to within an inch of its life. Of that, she had made certain. Not an inch of it hadn’t been sloshed with vinegar. . . once a week.
She would not have people come for aid and leave sicker than when they’d arrived.
The coach door swung open and a strong, black-gloved hand reached in. “Right you are, Your Grace. Are you ready to make the holy saints and angels jealous with your bounty?”
“Now, stop that, Mr. O’Malley,” Diana tried to say firmly but it was impossible. Thomas O’Malley had a bit of the devil in him, but only in the best possible way, and he did love to tease. Anything said was often delivered with such a merry lilt that it was impossible to be offended.
“Stop what, Your Grace?” he asked as he helped her descend.
“Blasphemy.” Diana tsked. “Yer mother would be most distressed.”
O’Malley laughed, his deep blue eyes twinkling beneath his dark brows. “My poor suffering mother has offered up my behavior to the Holy Ghost many a time.”
“She was a good woman,” Diana said without hesitation. It was clear O’Malley had been raised well, despite what must have been crushing poverty.
“She was that,” O’Malley happily confirmed.
Over their short time together, she had learned an astonishing amount about the Irish man. More than she’d learned about Max, in fact. For though O’Malley was extremely efficient in her care, when they had a moment, he happily regaled her with tales of Ireland. It was a country he clearly missed but seemed disinclined to return to.
He was less willing to discuss his fighting against Napoleon, but she knew he had been a most valiant man. Max had assured her of his valor.
She’d also gathered, though O’Malley had said nothing specific, that life in Ireland had been exceedingly difficult which was why he’d gone off to fight with the English. It was something she understood all too well, having seen the poverty in so much of the Highlands after The Clearances and the rebellions.
She admired him for finding a better life. It was no easy thing, being an outsider in another land.
O’Malley’s dark great coat swung about his tall form as he allowed her to go before him, up the few stone stairs, and into the Aid Society.
She was well aware that under his great coat lay a veritable armory of weapons, yet he moved as if he were as lithe as a cat.
As soon, as they stepped inside, she unwound her shawl and slipped her thick wool coat from her shoulders.
A young lady named Martha, her mouse brown hair tucked under a mob cap, took the things quickly and bobbed a hasty but efficient curtsy. “Good afternoon, Yer Grace. The Duchess of Blackstone and the Duchess of Harley be waiting for ye.”
“Thank ye, Martha,” she replied fondly. The girl had come far in but a short amount of time. When Martha had appeared on the doorstep, she’d been shoeless, covered in coal soot, and her hair had been a nest for small creatures. Her young gaze had darted about, suspicious.
Now, Martha’s cheeks bloomed red with health and her hair shone with brushing. Though she was still quite thin, her new soft wool gown helped to give her an air of wellness and confidence she had not had before. And she made an excellent member of their staff, assuring other young children who needed help that no harm would come to them here.
Diana quickly strode down the simple, yet bright hallway to the back kitchens where the scent of soup and bread was wafting.
At present, they had forty children and mothers in their care, all placed into ten rooms with two common rooms. They were all allowed to make use of the library and the tutors that had been hired to help in the instruction of letters for all.
At first, she had been at a loss as to how to supply the kitchens, but she had quickly discovered that she had almost endless funds, and her husband, though exceptionally busy, was a font of information if she asked.
So, she had realized that he had ensured her financial independence and that as mistress of all his houses, she could request fresh food to be brought down from the country as often as she wished. So, the larder was stocked with milk, butter, oats, eggs, winter vegetables, and game from the vast Raventon estates.
There was no need to fear dubious products such as diluted milk or adulterated bread. With food from their own estates, she knew she was giving these people the very best she possibly could.
“Aha!” chimed the Duchess of Harley. Her russet hair, though coiled atop her head, was unruly. The errant strands left her with a mischievous air. “You are here. Come taste this soup. Cook has outdone herself.”
Diana smiled at her friend, yes, friend, who had so eagerly taken up the cause.
While the duchesses might have easily remained in drawing rooms, raising money from the comfort of their gilded salons, Harriet and Eglantine had chosen to take an active part, learning to make soup, bake bread, and directly interact with each person in their care and helping to formulate a plan which would see them successful when they had left the Aid Society.
So many, when they left the houses, often punishing hells meant to help them, were worse off than when they’d entered and fell immediately back into ruin.
Both of the duchesses greeted Mr. O’Malley cheerfully and he nodded his dark mane of hair in a polite bow. However, excellent conversationalist that he was, he did not engage in discourse.
Most of the time, he stood with a readiness that was barely fathomable and his gaze seemed to be ever shifting, looking for any sign that something was amiss.
Diana crossed to the copper soup pots, each lined upon the range, and happily tasted the concoction inside.
She closed her eyes and sighed with content. The recipe had come from her own Highland home.
Though it was simple, potato, carrot, onion, leek, and parsnip with cream and butter, it was very nourishing and had a fresh taste which made her all but shiver with happiness.
It reminded her of the small crofter’s cottages with their ever-burning fires and smoke rising from the chimneys on cold winter nights, a pot always boiling.
Served with butter and good bread made of only the best oats, it was the sort of fare that was both comforting and healing.
“Do you think we should get holly in?” asked Harriet.
“Christmas is astonishingly soon,” added Eglantine.
Diana nodded. “I think it a fine idea. And a candle in every window. Let us fill the place with warmth and cheer.”
Eglantine grinned then added, “Shall we arrange for a present for each child?”
“And their mothers,” Diana put in. “Those women have kent little kindness and I think we can offer them a moment of it.”
Harriet and Eglantine nodded in agreement.
“Soon, we shall need more staff,” Harriet said pointedly. “And I think another building.”
“I agree,” said Diana. She nibbled her lip. “But we must ensure that our intentions remain true. We wouldna wish to get someone in who was too rigid.”
“Agreed,” Eglantine piped. “I’ve seen some of the matrons in the other establishments. I do swear they drink vinegar water instead of tea.”
Diana bit back a laugh. The description was apt and the accusation all too accurate. Some truly seemed to believe the poor should be treated without kindness or respect. She couldn’t understand it, but there was a great deal in this world she didn’t understand. She could only be glad that she and her husband believed in kindness. Without his support, she knew she’d be able to do little.
And soon, she’d be able to persuade him to take up certain causes in the House of Lords. For she knew, he would listen to her, even if they seemed to interact seldom at present. He was a good man.
A good man she wished to be closer to. . . but it did seem as if as the days passed, instead of becoming more intimate they were simply becoming two rather like-minded souls who lived in the same house.
Christmas was going to be most strange, indeed, this year.
He did not seek her out at night and most of their discussions took place at the long dining table that was always decked with dozens of pieces of silver, crystal, and porcelain.
She was tempted to ask Harriet and Eglantine how she might change things, but it was a terrifying thought asking for such advice. Besides, they did not know Max terribly well. Oh, they were all of a small circle, but they would not know him in the way she needed. No, the only ones who did were likely his male friends and she couldn’t possibly ask them. . .
She stopped mid-stir of the soup and placed the long ladle down upon the wood block beside the range.
There was someone she could ask. Someone who knew Max well. Someone who might be able to help her bridge the gap from acquaintance to wife, indeed.
A smile tugged at her lips. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?
A wave of purpose washed over her. Something she liked very much, indeed. It was always best to feel as if one had made a decision.
She turned to Harriet and asked, “Where might I pay a call upon Madame de Coqueville?”
Harriet’s brows rose ever so slightly but then she cleared her throat. “Number 79. Just off of Fleet Street down a rather narrow way. Your coach driver will know it.”
Harriet and Eglantine exchanged glances.
Diana was tempted to ask what it meant but she refrained. She wished nothing to dissuade her. So much of her life had taken a turn for the better in the short time since she’d come to London. Now, she was determined that her marriage should take that turn. . . into a real marriage, indeed.