“I was very surprised, Your Grace, that you agreed to this outing, and very pleased as well,” Mrs. Armbruster said.
“I’m looking forward to seeing your Institute,” Suzanne said.
When she’d received the woman’s note this morning, it seemed like an excellent way to get out of Marsley House. She needed to be away, just in case her father called on her again. Plus, she was growing exceedingly tired of Ella and wanted to escape the woman’s frowns and snide remarks.
Why had she tolerated the woman all this time? The fact that Ella had been in her employ six months seemed impossible now. But then, she’d been taking Ella’s tonic and it had numbed everything.
Evidently, it had also stolen her reason.
Without the tonic, it had taken her longer to fall asleep last night. Her thoughts had been scattered, but they’d kept returning to Drummond. He was an exceedingly handsome man. In addition, he’d been kind and understanding.
People didn’t seem to comprehend that it was easier to be alone than to try to pretend that everything was normal, that the world went on, and life still happened.
Drummond—Adam—had seemed to know that. No doubt because he’d his own share of grief with the death of his wife.
Had she said anything comforting to him? She couldn’t remember, which made her think that she’d been immersed in her own sorrow. He hadn’t been as selfish. He’d wanted to know about Georgie. He’d sat there and listened as she talked.
How natural it had felt to allow him to comfort her.
In those moments in the nursery she’d come to a startling realization. She wasn’t numb to all feeling. She noted the strength of a man’s embrace, the way he smelled—of bay rum and starch and a faint hint of the potpourri Mrs. Thigpen added to all the drawers. Had the housekeeper made a special recipe for Adam?
She liked the way he spoke, a Scottish accent that was flattened down just a little, as if he’d spent more time away from Scotland than in it.
She also noted the expression in his green eyes. Instead of the almost apathetic look in some higher-ranked servants—as if they’d seen it all and couldn’t be bothered to deal further with the vagaries of human nature—Adam’s gaze was always interested and curious. And kind. He’d said two words to her—I’m sorry—and it had touched her deeply.
“The girls at the Institute are from all kinds of backgrounds,” Mrs. Armbruster was saying. “They have each been visited by circumstances that the rest of society deems unfit to contemplate.”
“Ignoring something doesn’t make it go away,” Suzanne said.
Mrs. Armbruster gave her a bright, toothy smile. “How right you are, my dear.” She placed her gloved hand on Suzanne’s arm and leaned close. “You don’t mind if I call you that, do you? You remind me so much of my own dear Diane. It’s been four years since she and her husband emigrated to Queensland and I do miss her so.”
“Of course not,” Suzanne said.
Few people had treated her as if she were human in the past six years. Six years a duchess. Except for having had Georgie, she would much rather have gone back to being Suzanne Hackney. Her father would never have been satisfied with that, however. She was a commodity and he’d made a good bargain, at least according to him.
The Institute was also located in Spitalfields, a place that did not brighten with familiarity. Nor was the smell of it any more acceptable the second time she was here. How did Mrs. Armbruster tolerate it? For that matter, how did the inhabitants of the Foundling Hospital and the Institute?
The carriage halted in front of a two-story redbrick building. The entrance was a single door in the wall.
“We do not advertise what we do here, Your Grace,” Mrs. Armbruster said. “There are some groups, unfortunately some that are religious in nature, who take umbrage at the fact that we are encouraging sin, in their words.”
“Are you?” Suzanne asked, accepting the coachman’s hand as she exited the carriage.
“I suppose that there are some people who think that, but what we do is rescue young women who have gotten themselves into trouble with the help of young men.”
Suzanne didn’t have a rejoinder to that, so she merely followed the older woman into the building.
Everything about the Institute was bland and neutral. The walls were beige. The wooden floors were covered with a beige runner. The rooms they passed were also beige, as if the entire building had been designed to be as nondescript as possible.
Mrs. Armbruster strode on ahead as if determined to reach a certain point. Suzanne had no choice but to follow her, removing her gloves as she did so and wishing she could dispense of her hat as easily.
The corridor smelled of onions and something sweet, apples. Onions and apples—what a curious combination. The kitchen to their left was filled with women milling about or seated at the long wooden table in the center of the room. Mrs. Armbruster only waved in passing.
The next doorway led to a music room, which surprised Suzanne because she hadn’t thought of music as something that might be taught in such conditions. When she said as much to Mrs. Armbruster, the woman smiled.
“Many of these girls are frightened, Your Grace. Music, we’ve found, is a great equalizer. If you can get a few girls to sing a song they all know together, it eases them, and makes them less afraid.”
Mrs. Armbruster finally stopped, turned to the right, and entered a beige room, this one a parlor. Impressively large, the room had two fireplaces on opposite walls. A selection of couches, chairs, tables, and lamps were scattered about the room. Nothing seemed to match and Suzanne couldn’t help but wonder if every item in the parlor was a castoff from someone’s home.
A great many of the couches and chairs were occupied, all by girls who seemed much too young to be in their condition. All of them were with child. Some looked to be due to give birth at any moment, while others probably had a few months left.
“Do they have no families?” Suzanne asked in a low voice.
Mrs. Armbruster turned to her, her doughy face softened into lines of compassion. For her naïveté? Or for the girls who surrounded them?
“The very sad fact, Your Grace, is that most of them do have families. But their families have thrown them out or locked the doors and banished them for their great sin. You will note, however, that the young men who helped them get into this condition are never punished in any way. Not by reputation. Not by the law. Not even financially.”
She’d been sick for the first three months with Georgie, but after that, the entire time until his birth had been one of joy and anticipation. What must it be like to be with child and have no home, no family, no shelter, or anyone to care?
“Is there nothing that can be done?” she asked.
She had so much and they had so little. No, they had nothing except themselves and Mrs. Armbruster, a woman whose zeal was the match of any politician.
“Some brave men in Parliament are attempting to pass laws to effect change, but those are slow measures. In the meantime, we have young women who would suffer without assistance. Everyone is foolish from time to time, my dear. Each one of us has done something we regret. A bad decision, a choice made in the heat of the moment should not result in tragedy.” Mrs. Armbruster cleared her throat. “In addition, Your Grace, there are some girls who had no choice in the matter. No choice at all.”
Her voice took on a practical tone. “We need to help them provide for themselves. We have classes,” she added. “We train them in various skills that an employer might wish to have. A great many of our girls have gone into service. Some work as milliners, some as seamstresses, and a few at nearby factories.”
“Surely not when they’re with child?”
The older woman nodded. “If they are healthy, yes, Your Grace. We’ve found that some occupation is harmful for neither the mother nor the child. A girl will remain here until her baby is born. Then she’ll stay until she can find employment. We’ll give her whatever education she wishes. Several of our girls have gone on to be quite successful, I’m proud to say.”
The woman beamed at her. “We have plans to charge the girls a small amount each month to live here after their child is born. Only if they’ve acquired a position, that is.” Mrs. Armbruster leaned close. “It’s my fervent wish never to deny a girl a place here, Your Grace. They’ve already lost so much. I would hate for them to lose this haven as well. But there are those who will disobey our tenets. And some, I regret to say, who have abandoned their babies and left.”
Suzanne couldn’t imagine such a thing, but she had never been in a similar situation as these girls.
Before she could ask any further questions, Mrs. Armbruster walked to the middle of the room and called for attention.
“Girls, I have a very important visitor to introduce to you.”
Suzanne felt her stomach drop and wished that Mrs. Armbruster had warned her prior to the announcement.
“I’d like to present Her Grace, the Duchess of Marsley. Please welcome her to the Institute.”
She was startled to be suddenly surrounded by the occupants of the parlor, most of them wishing to talk to her. Some girls just reached out a hand to touch her shoulder or her arm, almost as if she were an icon of some sort.
Mrs. Armbruster didn’t do a thing other than smile toothily at her and leave her there, surrounded and awash in a sea of conversation.
“What’s it like being a duchess?”
“Did you marry a prince?”
“Not a prince, a duke. She’d have to marry a duke.”
“Are you rich?”
“Of course she’s rich. She wouldn’t be a duchess without being rich.”
“Where’s your crown? Why didn’t you wear it today?”
“They don’t wear crowns. Do they?”
One by one she tried to answer as many questions tossed to her as she could. She had one of her own after glancing at Mrs. Armbruster, who was still grinning at her.
What else was the woman planning?