The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter (15 page)

“Is that him?” Seth whispered. As certain as he was, he thought he should ask anyway.

“It is,” the headmistress replied. “Would you care to speak with him?”

He looked at her. “Why, no.”

“Then I have duties.” She turned to reach for the doorknob. “If you please.”

They walked in silence back down the corridor, her shoes making the only sounds. When they reached the vestibule, he asked, “Is he happy here?”

“Happy?” Mrs. Briggs folded her arms across her bosom. “I find it curious that you should ask that question, Mr. Langford. Are
you
happy?”

“I only wondered about the boy—”

“Most never had happiness to begin with, so they make do with what they have. There are three hundred children here to my fourteen workers, counting kitchen and scullery. We’re doing all we can to keep them fed and clothed and schooled. It’s not uncommon to hear weeping at night.”

“But they
are
treated kindly.” It was a question, though he did not phrase it as such.

“They are. If our rules seem severe, it is because without order, we cannot hope to tend to their needs.” Her gray eyes took on a melancholy expression. “It’s family they weep for, Mr. Langford, even those who’ve never known such a thing. My years here have convinced me that God puts a longing for family in our hearts.”

The longing in
Seth’s
heart was to be rid of this place. “Thank you for your time,” he told her and made for the door. Out in the feeble sunlight again, he felt suddenly drained of strength. So many emotions had raged through him in the past twenty-four hours! He almost longed for the bland sameness of the treadmill again. He leaned his back against the soot-begrimed bricks of the building and closed his eyes.

I was foolish to come here
, he thought, dropping his satchel to the ground beside him.
God, why did you allow this to happen? He’ll never know how wonderful his mother was. Even his father—he saved his life. Why did his family have to be snatched away like that?

He half expected a bolt of lightning to put an end to his ungratefulness. Here he was, released from prison just yesterday, and already questioning the ways of the Almighty. But instead of censure, he felt a question rise from somewhere within him.
Why don’t you be his family?

Seth opened his eyes, reached down, and snatched up his canvas bag. This was ridiculous! The child didn’t know him from Prince Edward and had lived without the pleasure of his company for seven years now.
I don’t even know where I’m going
.

A sudden idea brought relief.
Money
. Surely the boy had material needs. That had to be why God had led him here. He turned to the door again.

Mrs. Briggs looked at him curiously from her office doorway. “Mr. Langford?”

“What happens to the boys when they leave here?” he blurted. The question had not even occurred to him until that very minute.

“We attempt to find apprenticeships for them at age twelve. It teaches them a trade.”

I started working when I was younger than that. It didn’t hurt me
. “I see.” Then he recalled how small the child had looked for his age. “What happens if you can’t find apprenticeships for all of them?”

She looked away for a second, just as Elaine’s cousin had done. “Some are able to find positions at factories and such.”

“By ‘such’ do you mean workhouses?”

Her face hardened, clearly from resignation and not cruelty. “These are hard times, Mr. Langford. Our beds are never empty. If we keep a child a day longer than his twelfth birthday, we sentence a younger one to stay a day longer in the streets.”

“I see.” An image came to his mind of the destitute children who scavenged for salable bits of coal and iron in the mud of the Thames at low tide. Mudlarks, they were contemptuously called by Londoners.

Clearly growing impatient with Seth’s silence, Mrs. Briggs said, “And now, Mr. Langford, I must return to my—”

“Would it be possible for him to come with me?”

Her eyebrows raised. “You wish to adopt him?”

“Well … yes.”

“You didn’t mention a wife.”

“His mother was to be my wife. But something happened to prevent it. It’s for her that I would like to take care of the boy.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Are you a Christian man, Mr. Langford?”

“I am.”

“Can you produce someone to testify as to your character?”

“Reverend Mercer. He’s a Wesleyan minister. I’ve known him for years.”

“Yes? And where is his congregation located?”

Seth’s shoulders sagged. “Newgate, among others.”

“The prison, you mean?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Briggs’ hand went back to the doorknob. “You had best step inside my office, Mr. Langford.”

When they had seated themselves again, he told his story, leaving out the Hamiltons’ name. It sounded incredible to his own ears, so he did not take offense when she said, “Can Reverend Mercer verify this?”

“I believe so.” If the minister approached Major Spencer, surely the warden would at least confirm that he had been found innocent without giving the details. A chill snaked down his spine, raising cold sweat on the back of his neck. “He visits Newgate in the afternoons. I’ll have to go back there and wait for him.”

Seth didn’t allow himself to think about what he had committed to as he bought Scotch eggs and an orange from street vendors for his lunch and then hailed another hackney cab to take him back to Newgate. Too much thinking was dangerous, for he knew he was but a hairsbreadth away from abandoning the whole idea.

He had been standing on the walkway of busy Newgate Street—as far as possible from the prison but close enough to watch the entrance door—when he felt a hand upon his back. Already unnerved by being so close to the dreadful place, he jumped.

“Seth Langford?” It was Reverend Mercer standing there, grinning like a boy who’d just found a shilling. Before Seth could collect himself, he was caught up in a bear hug by the young minister. “Praise God! It is true!”

When he was released and could draw a breath again, Seth smiled back. “How did you know?”

The minister slanted him a knowing look. “Apparently Mr. Baker eavesdropped on your meeting yesterday. No doubt half the prison knows why you were set loose.”

That was disturbing to hear. “But I agreed to keep it to myself.”

“It wasn’t your doing, Mr. Langford.”

But it was all the more reason he needed to put London behind him. What if the Hamilton family decided he had broken his word? He realized then that Reverend Mercer had been speaking. “ … anything you need?”

“Yes, please,” Seth replied. “There is.”

Five minutes later they were seated in a hansom headed toward East London. “Mr. Langford is of sound moral character,” the minister expressed at the orphanage to Mrs. Briggs and a Mr. Healy, who had been summoned in his capacity as head of the board of trustees. “He taught himself to read while in Newgate, so it’s clear he suffers from no lack of industry. He has a document signed by the warden and a legal representative of the family involved, withdrawing all charges. I can testify to the validity of the facts he gave you, although you must understand that we haven’t the liberty to give the name of his former employer.”

Three identical documents were produced, one for the files of The Whitechapel Foundling Home, one for the magistrate’s office, and one for Seth to keep, testifying that Thomas Norton shall henceforth be recognized as Thomas Langford. On each Mr. Healy penned his official signature, Mrs. Briggs and Reverend Mercer signed as witnesses, and lastly, Seth, with trembling hand, altered the fate of a young boy he had yet to meet.

But that would soon happen, for after Mr. Healy left and Reverend Mercer wrapped Seth in another bear hug before making his departure, Seth was alone again with Mrs. Briggs. “So soon,” he said in a voice as unsteady as his hand.

“Having regrets already, Mr. Langford?”

I don’t know
, he thought but said evasively, “I’ll take good care of him.”

And so it was that Seth’s hansom seat was shared by a small wide-eyed boy who looked about him in mute wonder on their way to Paddington Station. That was fine with Seth, for he really didn’t know what he was expected to say. Mrs. Briggs had done all the talking when the boy was brought into her office. Thomas was then ushered away to collect his belongings—a change of clothing bundled with string that fit easily into Seth’s canvas bag, and a small tin horse that had no doubt been a Christmas gift last year. Seth could easily imagine the overworked headmistress already making plans to find a replacement for the boy’s bed and porridge bowl by nightfall.

Seth knew next to nothing about children. He had been the youngest in a family that scattered after his mother’s death because his father lost interest in everything but gin. The little contact he had had with children on the Hamilton estate had resulted in disastrous consequences. From the corner of his eye he studied the boy. His close-cropped hair must have come from his father’s side, for Elaine’s had been reddish blond. The boy’s hair looked almost gray in the sunlight, like ashes—an unusual color for a child. It was a bit disconcerting to see Elaine’s blue eyes set in such a waifish face.

Does she know he’s with me now?
Seth wondered. Were those same blue eyes looking down on them from heaven right now? He hoped so. He had surely hurt her with his lie about ceasing to love her. True, she had married just two years later, but women married for more than one reason, and he suspected that security had been Elaine’s. He couldn’t fault her for that.

The platform at Paddington Station was an anthill of activity. Seth carried his bag with one hand and, after some hesitation, took Thomas’s small hand in his. It wouldn’t do to have the child get separated from him in the crowd and end up falling on the tracks. A black locomotive with
London-Birmingham Railway
on the door belched steam and sent out a shrill whistle.

“It’s loading now,” he said to the boy, leading him toward a ticket window. “We have to hurry.” They were the first words Seth had spoken to him. Blue eyes wide, the boy nodded back and hurried along. At the window Seth waited anxiously as the three people ahead of him made their purchases. “Two tickets, please,” he said when his turn came.

“Where to?”

“The end of the line.”
As far from London as possible
.

The clerk gave him a brief appraising glance. “Second-class?”

Ten years of being treated like the dregs of society caught up with Seth. He clenched his teeth and entertained the notion of reaching through the window and taking the man by the collar. But it wasn’t worth going back to Newgate over, so he relaxed his fist and stifled the urge. He considered the money in his pocket. Wouldn’t it be satisfying to raise his chin haughtily and demand first-class tickets?

And so you’d allow one uncivil boor to influence how you spend your money?
he chided himself. That money was to provide for his future, and now the boy’s as well. “Yes,” Seth replied as he handed over a pound note and then pocketed his change. Thankfully their second-class compartment wasn’t crowded—the only other passengers being an older married couple and a young man who looked like a bank clerk. Seth allowed the boy the place by the window so that they could both look out—he over Thomas’s head. They traveled on in silence until the train pulled into Coventry Station at half-past seven, and Seth thought to ask if he would like anything to eat.

The boy turned to him with his large eyes. “Yes, sir, if you please, sir,” he answered apologetically. Seth took his hand again outside the train, for though the platform was less crowded than in London, it seemed so large and the boy so small. He bought roast beef sandwiches in the depot, but the boarding whistle blew soon afterward and they had to eat them on the train. They arrived in Birmingham at half-past eight and found an inn within walking distance, The Christopher Columbus. An innkeeper led them upstairs, telling Seth they were fortunate because there was a trading fair going on and he had but one room left.

“Do you know how to ready yourself for bed?” Seth asked Thomas when the innkeeper left them. Surely boys of seven knew how to clean their teeth and bathe themselves, but he thought he should ask just to be sure.

“Yes, sir,” Thomas replied and took his belongings out of Seth’s canvas bag. It astonished Seth to see the boy’s nightshirt, worn thin and patched in several places. As he pointed out the water closet at the end of the corridor and, as an afterthought, waited outside the door lest the boy forget his way back and become frightened, Seth reckoned he would need to purchase some clothing for him.
Some shoes as well
, he thought, for they were almost as thin as the nightshirt.

He waited until the boy had settled himself on the pillow to snuff out the candle. “Good night,” Seth said.

“Good night, sir.” The small voice seemed to have grown even smaller in the surrounding darkness. It was Seth’s second night since his release to sleep in a real bed, and his limbs sank greedily into the soft mattress. Sleep had already begun to muddle his thoughts when he heard a noise and opened his eyes.