Lanora took in the dwindling line with satisfaction. After three days in the small building on the back of the church, she’d finally handed out enough bread that people had better activities for their time than waiting for it. Sadly, in a few more days they would be willing to line up again, but for now they and their families were fed. She wished she could offer meat as well, but it wasn’t practical to distribute.

Perhaps meat pies, she mused. Grace would know what was best. Lanora should likewise look into procuring fruit. As she handed out the last few loaves of bread, she pictured the look on Grace’s face at the suggestion of a trip to the wharfs to bargain for fruit.

“No thank you, Missus,” the woman standing before her said.

Lanora blinked. “You don’t want bread?”

The woman, not much older than Lanora and too frail to be turning down food, shook her head. “I was wanting to ask a favor of you, Missus.” She leaned close. “In private.”

Lanora looked down the line. “Well, I’ve only a few dozen more loaves, and I count about twenty people in line. If you take some to the end of the line, I’ll be free to speak with you sooner.”

The woman nodded. Clean enough hands scooped up an armful of loaves. She scuttled away as Lanora resumed passing out bread. The murmurs and suspicious looks ended as soon as the young woman began handing out what she carried.

By the time the line was gone, Lanora had only four loaves remaining. Those she took outside, where she knew urchins lurked. They were too afraid to enter, as parentless children were often rounded up and put into orphanages. Hungry eyes watched her lay the loaves on the bottom step and walk away, gesturing for the woman to follow. Trying to nourish the urchins was like feeding feral cats. They suspected every kindness of being a trap.

The woman fell in stride with her as they passed from the churchyard to the narrow street, her gaze shifted past Lanora’s shoulder. “Them boys belong in an orphanage, or a workhouse.”

“That’s hardly my trouble,” Lanora said. “I aim only to give them a respite from hunger.”

The woman chewed on her lip. “Where are we going?”

“I’m going to visit the foreman in charge of the new home for women, Mr. Finch. May I assume speaking while we walk is private enough?” The woman seemed harmless, but Lanora wasn’t about to go off alone with her. She wasn’t the fool Grace worried she was.

“Are they really building a place for women whose menfolk have abandoned them and their babes?” The woman sounded wistful.

“They are.” At least, if Lanora had any say, they were. “Progress should never have stopped. Is that what you wished to speak with me about, Miss?”

“Missus Banke. I’m a widow, like you, Missus.”

Lanora smoothed her dull grey skirt. She could play a role, but wasn’t an accomplished dissembler. She found it best to bring a falsehood into being quickly and let rumor carry it through. If she had to lie to the face of each person, she wouldn’t succeed in her ruse. “And do you have children, Mrs. Banke?”

“A daughter. It’s somewhat on account of her I need the favor.”

Lanora wished she’d saved some of the bread. The woman would ask for money now, for her sick child, who may or may not exist. Likely, Mrs. Banke thought turning down the bread would make her plea seem more honest, but Lanora never dispensed coin. Only food, lessons or work that might be done to earn money.

She stopped and motioned for Mrs. Banke to step to the side of the roughly cobbled street, where they could speak without blocking passing traffic. “I don’t have any coin. I will return with more food in a few days.” The woman hardly had enough meat on her to last a few days, but Lanora hadn’t forced her to give up her loaf.

Mrs. Banke shook her head. “I’m not asking for a handout, Missus.” She sounded offended. “I need a favor.”

Lanora looked down to hide her surprise, suitably chastened. “What favor?”

“They say you can write, and read and all.”

“I can.”

“I got a story about Lord Lefthook for the paper. They pay for stories.”

Lanora’s brows shot up. “You met Lord Lefthook?”

The woman smiled, her head bobbing up and down in confirmation. “I did, and I want to sell my story to them papers, but I know better than to go there.” Her words bubbled out. “The boys, like the ones you left the bread for, they watch the papers. Anyone sees me in there, they’ll know I got paid. They’ll rob me. You’re always here helping people. I want you to get my money for me and no one the wiser.”

“So, you want me to take down your story and deliver it to the paper, then bring back your payment?” Lanora didn’t know if she was more amused or surprised. “Perhaps I could simply remember it for you?”

“You’ll do it, then?” Her eyes darted about again, but the few passers-by seemed disinterested. “I don’t know anyone else I can ask, you see, who won’t take any, or spread my name.”

What a sad thing that said about this woman’s life. “You trust me so much, when we’ve never met before?”

The woman looked her up and down. “You bring all that food, and you’re finer than you pretend. I can hear it when you talk. You won’t be tempted by what the papers’ll pay me.”

Lanora frowned. Perhaps Grace was right. Mrs. Smith might not be the foolproof costume Lanora thought. “Did you really meet Lord Lefthook? Do you have proof?”

The woman pulled out a card and extended it to Lanora. It was a fine make. A gentleman’s card. On it were Lord Lefthook’s initials. She turned it over, but found nothing.

“You can take that to the papers as proof,” Mrs. Banke said. “They seen those before.”

“You don’t need it?” Lanora ran her fingers over the monogram.

“I already shown it to the doctor. He knows me now.”

Lanora tucked the card away. “Doctor?”

Mrs. Banke’s head bobbed again. “I was on my way to see a doctor, for my girl, when some fellow who weren’t no gentleman tried to take the coin I’d saved for the medicine. Lord Lefthook appears, and he lays the fellow out with one swing.”

To Lanora’s amusement, Mrs. Banke mimicked a punch, much as Grace had.

“But that’s not all.” Mrs. Banke lowered her voice. “He gave me that card and said I was to go to another doctor, one what’s much finer than I could ever afford, and Lord Lefthook has it all paid for, the visits and the medicine.” Her voice dropped to the barest whisper. “And the doctor gave me money so as I don’t have to work this week, so I can care for my girl.”

Lanora stared at Mrs. Banke. Lord Lefthook sounded too good to be true. “And they didn’t ask for anything, Lord Lefthook or the doctor?”

Mrs. Banke shook her head vigorously. “Not a thing, and Doctor Carter gave me tonic for my girl. She doesn’t like how it tastes, she says, but she’s doing better already.”

“I’m pleased to hear that,” Lanora said. “So, you would like me to trade your story to the Times for coin?”

“It would be a help to me, Missus, but don’t give them my name or nothing.”

“Certainly not.”

“And don’t give them the whole story till they pay. Those writers can be sneaky, I hear. Learning to write does that to a brain, makes it cunning.” She cast Lanora a startled look. “Meaning no offense, Missus.”

“I took none.” Lanora frowned. “If the boys watch the papers, as you said, and would rob you, won’t I endanger myself by going in and then returning here?”

Mrs. Banke chuckled. “Nah. No one would lay a finger on you, Missus. Half the borough would stone them on account of you bring us food. The other half would because robbing a gentlewoman will bring the Runners. No one wants that kind of trouble round here.”

Lanora nodded. Though she was mostly convinced, she would send Grace, who never set foot in the shadier parts of London. That should be safe enough for all concerned and Grace would be overjoyed to go to the Times with another story of how valiant Lefthook was. “I’ll bring the money when I hand out bread, but if I don’t see you, I’ll leave it with the doctor. You said his name is Carter?” She would also attempt to learn more about Lord Lefthook, who obviously associated with the man.

“Doctor Carter, on Amber.” Mrs. Banke attempted a curtsey. “Thank you, Missus.”

Lanora watched Mrs. Banke walk away, torn. She’d meant to hunt down the foreman for the new home for women again. She wished to know why work still hadn’t resumed.

If only Lanora could write to Mr. Darington, she might ask him about the work, instead of hunting for the foreman, but she couldn’t. It wouldn’t be proper, even if he was in Egypt. She’d considered writing his solicitor, for she knew the man’s name and address. She’d looked into him once, when her father’s old man of business passed and she was made to research another for him. Mr. Lethbridge was known to be good. Her father had refused him, though, saying Mr. Darington didn’t speak very highly of him. It was that disparagement that made her hesitate in approaching him.

She’d written to her father about the money again, but he’d never replied. He was like that with letters. When she was young, she’d written him weekly, and still often did. He rarely replied. She had no way of knowing if he had received her inquiry, all the way in Egypt, nor had she any reason to think he’d answer. Even if he did, with Egypt across all of Europe and two seas, getting news to and from there was slow.

Not that Mrs. Smith’s words to the foreman would amount to any change, even assuming she could locate the man. She’d already spoken to him several times, to no avail. Resolved, she altered her course. It wasn’t a long walk to Dr. Carter’s on Amber.