Imogen Robertson - Anatomy of Murder

“I’ve been here forty years now, madam, and it’s a blessing to see how many have lived and thrived that would have starved in the workhouse otherwise, or been smothered by their poor mothers. Though many of them come too late or too sick. Time was, we used to bury more than half before they were six years old. The newborns go to wet nurses in the country that answer to us, then we look after them here and they are apprenticed out as soon as they are of an age.”

Harriet said she admired the gardens, and commented that the children must be glad of a place to play.

“Yes, the boys do the work of it. And well-trained they are too. The head gardener at Hampton was brought here, starving, as an infant and now he is as sleek as any lord and twice as hearty. And, of course, lots of the boys go to the ships.”

Harriet let her pace slacken a little, remembering the young boys who had served on the Splendor. Some had been raised within these walls. “Does Lord Carmichael do much work for the hospital?”

She thought she sensed her companion stiffen a little. “He organizes some of the musical activities of this place, and likes to attend the service here on a Sunday. Once in my memory, someone put?100 in the collection plate! I do not think that was Lord Carmichael, however.”

“Others have been more generous?”

“Indeed, madam. Mr. Hogarth designed their little uniforms, and Mr. Handel all but built the chapel with the performances he gave here.” She sniffed. “They were truly charitable gentlemen.”

“Is it wrong of me to guess you do not like Lord Carmichael?”

“There’s no liking or not. In my opinion he spends time here because other rich gentlemen do, and it’s a stage to strut about on. The king himself is our patron, and on the Sunday when the children sing, the chapel is as full of titles and fine furs as the House of Lords. Though people might say I have a prejudice. One occasion, Lord Carmichael wished a young girl sent out to a friend of his as servant. I did not like the friend and told the committee so. He tried to have me removed from my position.”

“I’m glad to see he was unsuccessful.”

The lady put her hands together lightly in front of her. “My roots here are deep, but it was an uneasy time.”

“What became of the girl?”

“She ended up working for a butcher in Holborn. Married the son of the establishment last year and I held her flowers for her at the back of the church. But here we are, madam. If you would like to take a seat here, I shall tell Lord Carmichael you are waiting for him.”

Detaining her a moment, Harriet reached for her purse and handed over the money meant for new papers for the salon to the little matron.

She did not have to wait long; before many minutes had passed, there were footsteps on the stairs behind her and two gentlemen approached. The elder she took for Lord Carmichael, and a straighter back she had never seen. Crowther’s words had conjured in her mind a being weasly and small, slicked with ill deeds and ill humor. This man was not such a one. He was wigged and powdered, dressed with a perfection that made Harriet feel slovenly, and he had the figure and proportions to bring the best valet into tears of gratitude. His face was long and his nose aquiline; it seemed when he turned toward her and smiled as if a bust of a classical Caesar had become animated. The intricate embroidery on his waistcoat was in gold thread, the patterns of leaves and tendrils swirling across his stomach glowing. Each item of his dress fitted as if it had been sculpted onto him by some follower of Michelangelo. He was taller than Crowther and his face less lined. Harriet wondered if he dressed himself to take a place among his collection; he would be his own centerpiece in that drawing room, making even Manzerotti seem cheap by the comparison.

The lord’s companion was a much younger man who wore his own hair tied darkly at the nape, and Harriet would have called it a handsome face, as handsome as any young man of her acquaintance, were it not for the fact that the gentleman seemed to be carrying some great distress. His eyes were rather red and he was holding so hard onto his hat in front of him that his knuckles were whitening.

“Mrs. Westerman.” Carmichael came forward and bowed and looked her carefully up and down. “I am glad to make your acquaintance. I am Carmichael. This young man is my stepson, Mr. Longley, and I fear because of him I shall not be able to have the conversation with you that was promised.”

“Indeed, sir? I am sorry to hear that. It is a matter of some urgency.”

Carmichael raised a perfect eyebrow and Harriet wished she had dressed with better care. “Is it, madam? I fear Mr. Fitzraven will remain a corpse no matter what you do. But perhaps I should leave it to Mr. Longley to explain why his affairs carry me away from you.”

Mr. Longley swallowed and wet his lips. Harriet put up her hand. “No, really, Mr. Longley. You have no need to explain your affairs to me.”

Carmichael was watching them both with a smile. “Come now. It is my duty to my late wife that he should learn better manners, and my pleasure that he should explain to you how his behavior has led to this state of affairs. I must insist.”

Mr. Longley was on the verge of weeping. Harriet turned a little sharply to Carmichael and said, “Yet I insist on not hearing it. You may force Mr. Longley to speak, sir, but you cannot force me to listen. Very well. I shall bid you good day and hope to speak to you another time.”

“No-please don’t go!” Mr. Longley held up his hand, and rushed on in a whisper, “He will be more angry with me if you do.”

Harriet hesitated, then turned back to them with a nod.

Mr. Longley stared at the ground. He could not be more than eighteen. Carmichael continued to watch him, his expression one of indulgent amusement.

“I have been very foolish and find myself unable to pay a debt of honor. I can get no more from the Jews in Whitechapel, and rather than leave the country unprofitably, my father wishes me to pay my debts in another way. I must travel to Harwich.”

“Leave nothing out, Julian,” Lord Carmichael said caressingly, but watching Harriet.

“The debt is due today. My father takes me to speak to the gentleman to whom I owe money.”

“And?”

“I am a disgrace to my family and my name, sir.”

“You are not addressing me at this time, Julian.”

The boy turned toward Harriet’s shocked and angry face. “I am a disgrace to my family and my name, madam.”

Harriet stepped forward, and ignoring Carmichael put a hand on the young man’s arm.

“I am sure you are no such thing, Mr. Longley.” The latter choked a little. “Every man makes mistakes. It is how we learn! Do not think yourself worthless so young. You have a whole life in which to redeem yourself.”

“Do you learn from your mistakes, Mrs. Westerman?” Carmichael said. Harriet ignored him.

Longley looked into her face, his eyes red and lips trembling. He seemed to her very far away, like a man drowning who sees his ship carried farther from him by the waves and knows it is beyond his strength to reach it.

Lord Carmichael touched his arm, and he flinched and withdrew a step or two from Harriet. Carmichael turned toward her with a bow. “Forgive me, madam. As you see, we must do a little tour of my stepson’s debtors. I hope I shall see you at my house tomorrow evening.”

Harriet found she could do no more than nod, but as Lord Carmichael led the boy away, holding him firmly under the elbow, she called out: “You will be in my thoughts, Mr. Longley.”

The young man looked back and tried to smile bravely at her as Carmichael pushed him forward out onto the gravel forecourt where his carriage waited.