Chapter 4

“The Foundling Hospital was founded in 1739 by Thomas Coram, a businessman and sea captain who often traveled into London. Shocked by the sight of infants neglected and dying in the streets, he began to petition London society for a foundling hospital, obtaining the signatures of many ladies of rank. After seventeen years and considerable sums subscribed, the first meeting of the governors was held on 20 November 1739 at Somerset House. Before the current facilities were built in 1745, houses were taken in Hatton Garden and children were received there in 1741.”

Miss Sedgely paused to take a breath, and Louise found herself becoming interested in spite of initial resentment. Having spent the past two years as something of an older sister to her young cousins, the thought of small children left to die of neglect simply appalled her. The half-dozen other ladies in the tour seemed equally shocked.

One of the ladies, who identified herself as Mrs. Simpson, raised the question of the reason for calling the institution a hospital rather than an orphanage. Did they only accept children who were ill?

“An excellent question, Mrs. Simpson,” Vanessa responded. “No, in this case, the word ‘hospital’ is meant in the sense of ‘hospitality’, as in offering hospitality to children in need. However, children’s health is a high priority here. Many mothers bring their children to us in the expectation that they will have a better chance of surviving here than in their own less-than-ideal situations.”

Another visitor wanted to know how the hospital was able to deal with the multitude of destitute children that must have certainly been presented to them.

Miss Sedgely sighed and shook her head sadly. “The numbers are indeed far greater than the capacity to care for them. In the beginning, a lottery system was set in place, whereupon the children’s parents were asked to pick a ball from a bag. A black ball meant the child was refused. A white ball meant that the child would be admitted following an assessment of good health from a medical examination. A red ball meant that the child would be admitted should any of the accepted children fail the medical examination.”

The fate of children determined by the luck of the draw? Louise’s heart sank to consider the agony of the mother whose last appeal to save the life of her child was turned down for such a meaningless reason.

“In 1756, the House of Commons agreed to support the hospital, so long as it should admit every child under a certain age that was presented. However, after four years, when more than 15,000 children were admitted at a cost of £500,000, the government withdrew funding. After 1760, the primary method of admission was by petition, the success of which could be guaranteed by a ‘donation’ of £100.”

Louise gasped. “But—women who are destitute cannot possibly provide such an amount!”

Miss Sedgely gave her a sympathetic look. “No, they could not. Most of these women were abandoned, with no money of their own, and the hospital was their last resort. Nevertheless, that is the way it was run until the practice was stopped in 1801. Since then, there is a committee of inquiry who evaluates the character of the mother and the exigency of her situation prior to admission.”

“Meaning, I suppose, that they don’t take harlots’ get,” muttered the woman next to Louise.

Another woman mentioned something about the importance of lending a hand to the “deserving poor” rather than the offspring of fallen women who will “surely turn out as immoral as their mothers.”

Louise took a half step back. Condemning an infant to a life of misery or even early death solely on the basis of its mother’s character seemed to her patently unfair, and she did not hesitate to say so.

Several women gasped and gave her reproachful looks. “It is exceedingly improper for a young lady to have knowledge of such things.” “What a scandal it would be if the hospital were to be charged with promoting such creatures by subsidizing their children!”

Louise cringed and turned away from her denouncers, to find Miss Sedgely regarding her sympathetically.

“Come along now,” said their guide, waving to the rooms further down the corridor, “and you shall see the kitchens and the other rooms of the institution.”

She escorted them into the large kitchen, where they saw aproned girls and boys performing such tasks as peeling and chopping vegetables, scrubbing pots and pans, and kneading dough for bread—under the supervision of adult servants. It was much the same in the laundry room, with children huddled over tubs and washboards, and also in the kitchen garden in the back, where children tended to the late-season turnips, cabbage, carrots, potatoes, and other vegetables. For the most part, the young inmates seemed willing and even eager to accomplish their tasks. There was laughter and camaraderie among them, and shy smiles in the direction of their visitors.

“As you see, the children are assigned household tasks for the duration of their stay here,” Miss Sedgely explained. “Their day is fairly regimented, with prayer and Bible study each morning. They learn to care for themselves and their clothing, and are expected to behave properly. They are children, however, and as such, they do have ample time for play in the back gardens. When I first came here two years ago, I was quite astonished to discover that no attempt was made to teach them to read and write.”

She paused for effect, and then gave a half-smile. “Nearly all of the children go out around age fourteen to an apprenticeship of some sort. While some may believe it unnecessary for the lower classes to be literate, my own personal experience has proven literate servants to be much more useful than illiterate ones.”

She explained that her offer to establish regular classes in reading, writing, and sums was accepted, and that in time, three other ladies had put themselves forward as teachers as well.

When they reached the room set aside for classes, she pulled open the door and motioned for them to enter. An older woman in servant dress was standing at the front of the class, listening as a boy of about eight years was reading slowly and haltingly from the Book of Common Prayer. When he finished, Miss Sedgely introduced them to Mrs. Cotter, who bowed to the ladies and then bade the dozen or so children to greet their visitors. Louise noticed how the children’s faces lit up when they saw Miss Sedgely, as well as her affectionate responses to their greetings. There was no question but that she cared for these children, that her dedication to their welfare was not merely that of Christian duty. Louise found that commendable.

They saw the dormitory-style sleeping rooms, with its rows of beds, one for boys and the other for girls. No cradles or cribs for infants. Louise asked where they were kept.

Miss Sedgely clapped a hand to her temple. “Oh dear. My apologies. How remiss of me not to mention that earlier! I haven’t much experience giving tours, you see. I am merely standing in for Matron, who was called out of town.” She smiled wryly at Louise. “Newly-arrived infants are sent to our wet-nurses in the country and raised there until they have reached four years old. The children remain here essentially from the age of four to fourteen.”

“No need to apologize, Miss Sedgely. I believe you are managing quite creditably,” offered one woman, whose sentiments were echoed by the other ladies in the group as well. Miss Sedgely’s face was flushed when she accepted their praise, but she hurried to resume her duties.

The culmination of the tour was a visit to the picture gallery, a charming room with walls of apple-green silk, white sculptured ceiling and moldings, and two glittering chandeliers. But it was the fine collection of magnificent paintings that captured Louise’s immediate attention.

“Both William Hogarth and George Frideric Handel took great interest in the hospital. Mr. Handel had his Messiah performed here several times, and bequeathed a full copy of his oratorio to the hospital, which you can see in the cabinet over there. Mr. Hogarth, who had no children of his own, organized a permanent art exhibition, which includes paintings by Sir Joshua Reynolds, Thomas Gainsborough, Richard Wilson, and Francis Hayman, in addition to his own works. Especially noteworthy is his own portrait of Thomas Coram.

“It was Mr. Hogarth’s effort to create a location for British artists to assemble and compete for commissions that caused many wealthy patrons to flock to the hospital and subsequently make donations. This room is frequently used for concerts and receptions, the purpose of which, is, of course, to secure charitable donations.”

While the ladies circled the room to admire the exquisite pieces on display, Miss Sedgely strolled over to Louise’s side.

“‘Christ Presenting a Little Child’,” she murmured. “Most apropos, don’t you think? I believe if Christ were here, he would exhort us to take in all of the poor, abandoned children.”

Louise smiled. “You mean, even the spawn of-er, fallen women?”

“Especially the spawn of fallen women. I cannot believe that it is God’s intention to blame the child for the parents’—that is, both parents’—failings. The God I know is, above all, compassionate, and does not condone any sort of cruelty.”

“No,” agreed Louise thoughtfully. “I don’t believe so either, Miss Sedgely.” She glanced at the painting and then back at the woman next to her. “Perhaps you can help me understand something, Miss Sedgely. How can a woman bear to give up a child—her very own child? How could she bear to be alive in the world and not know where her child is or what sort of life it has? I don’t believe I could do such a thing, were it me.”

Miss Sedgely gently squeezed her shoulder. “It is rather a dreadful thing to contemplate. I suppose—were I in such a situation—that I would do anything to keep my child. The reality is, however, that as a woman—even a woman brought up in a family of means—the choice may not be mine to make. How would I support a child on my own, should my family cast me off? Marriage would be out of the question—what gentleman would willingly take an unchaste woman?” She shook her head. “I have to think it worse for women of the lower orders, many of whom struggle daily for survival, who are exposed to dangers and diseases, who live their lives in misery and can expect little better for their children. If they believe a child of theirs might have a better chance elsewhere…” Her voice trailed off.

Louise’s hands clenched into fists. “But it’s so unfair!” She hardly knew where to start. Poverty, for one. Why should some have so much and others nothing at all? The powerlessness of women to control their own destinies. The abuse and negligence of men. The callous greed of society that enabled people to ignore the suffering of those around them.

“It is indeed,” said Miss Sedgely in a quiet voice. “But there are small efforts we can make to relieve suffering. Perhaps you might wish to join us here in some capacity. There is nothing so gratifying as seeing the delight in the eyes of the children when they see you coming. And knowing that the work you are doing will significantly improve their lives.”

Louise bit her lip. What could she do that would be of use to the orphans? As disordered as her own life was at that point, she could hardly imagine having anything to spare for others. She was instantly ashamed of the selfishness of her thoughts. Was her situation really so bad? Perhaps she should find something to do that would benefit others.

“An excellent idea,” said her father, who appeared suddenly behind them. “Perhaps you might follow Miss Sedgely’s example and work with the children, Louise.” He turned a smiling face toward the other woman. “I can’t thank you enough, Miss Sedgely, for taking my daughter in hand today. I daresay she found it very compelling, did you not, poppet?” He put a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to look at him with narrowed eyes.

“Indeed,” Louise responded without enthusiasm. All of a sudden she didn’t care for the way her father was looking at Miss Sedgely. Even worse was the bemused expression on Miss Sedgely’s face when she looked at him.

Something was going on there, she suspected. And she didn’t care for it one bit.