LITMIR.BIZ

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looked over the group and wondered which of them would truly find a way out of their current straits. In spite of the intelligence that hid behind many of these pretty faces and the commitment that brought them here, some would not attain the position of lady’s maid or companion that they sought. There were simply too many poor and not enough positions in which they could find employment.

      Her eyes burned with unexpected tears and she blinked against them. Surprised by the strength of her reaction to the plain realization of her charges’ plight in life, she cleared her throat and nodded to Mrs. Dobbins, the housekeeper who stood waiting in the back of the room.

      “It is time for luncheon, girls. You should be proud of your work this morning.”

      “Thank you, Miss Fairchild.”

      Their voices rang out in a well-practiced, exquisitely timed chorus that still brought a blush to her cheeks. From Mary, the youngest at fifteen, to Becky, the oldest at twenty, the young women gathered up their books and slates and waddled out of the room, following Mrs. Dobbins to the meal that awaited them. Each woman was at a different stage of her pregnancy, making their progress out of the room resemble a procession of chubby geese.

      Just before leaving, Becky stepped away from the others and approached her. Leaning in, she whispered, “It weren’t your fault, Miss Fairchild. She made her mind up to leave and there weren’t nothing you could do to stop her.”

      Anna’s first reaction was to correct Becky’s grammar, but it was the small pat on her hand that made it impossible to speak. She simply nodded and accepted the girl’s comment for the attempt at sympathy it was. Becky rejoined the others on their way to their meal and Anna was left alone.

      Gladys had a wild streak in her and came by her unfortunate situation from not so much attempts to defile her virtue as from her attempts to give it away…over and over…to several men willing to partake of her favors. From her arrival here, Gladys had fought the strictures and schedule and never settled in as the other girls did. And, Anna suspected from overheard whisperings among the others, she continued to seek out the companionship of men.

      Many men.

      Any man who smiled at her or offered her a kind word.

      Most especially any man who offered her some bauble or a few shillings for her time and attention.

      In essence, Anna’s first and only attempt to rehabilitate a…a… Anna had difficulty thinking of her as a prostitute for it seemed such a harsh word, but Gladys was a light skirt and her presence here had been an unmitigated failure. Gladys slipped away only two nights before, giving only a quiet farewell nod to Becky, who’d befriended her during her short stay.

      A growing maudlin feeling grew within her and Anna wiped at the gathering tears. In the last three years since opening this home and school, she’d watched dozens come and go. At first, she’d lost herself in each one—learning about their lives, the details, even their hopes and dreams. But as she found her heart broken for each one, Anna learned to hold back and keep a distance between herself and the young women. Doing that hurt her in some ways, for it seemed to be her nature to open herself to these unfortunates. She knew what they faced, for her own experiences demonstrated all too clearly how much they were at the mercy of those who had no mercy to give. In order to be effective in her work, Anna needed to separate herself a bit.

      Anna walked to the desk near the door and organized her papers and books. Not truly a schoolroom like the one in which she’d been educated, this large chamber had served as a drawing room in the better days of the house. Usually, poorhouses and those for unfortunate women like the ones she sponsored here were large, uncomfortable and more than unpleasant places. But then, most did not agree with her notions and methods of helping the poor, choosing instead to throw them together in filthy places no better than warehouses with no attention to anything except the meanest level of survival.

      With the backing of several extremely wealthy patrons who asked little and preferred to be known for their charity rather than to be involved with it, Anna had been able to buy this house, furnish it, staff it and provide a modest living to the women who called it home for those few months before their bairns were born. That time was a time away from the harsh life they’d lived and a time to learn new skills that would, hopefully, give them a better opportunity for employment. Confirmed bluestocking that she was, Anna knew that education was the way out of poverty.

      Sitting in the high-back chair at the desk, she reviewed her schedule of the next few days. Alternating mornings and afternoons here and at the Gazette, and overseeing her aunt’s household and her sister’s education and upbringing left her little time for anything else. With the promising returns on her investment in the publication, she hoped to buy a second house and to expand her work. But that would take more money than she had. And more time than she could spare right now.

      If only His Majesty’s government in England and here in Edinburgh would do more. If only more of those who benefited from wealth would contribute to those less fortunate. If only…

      Anna shook herself from such a path of hopeless consideration. Between her work here and her efforts through the Gazette, she was doing as much as was humanly possible. Certainly more than many, including the arrogant Lord Treybourne, who not only held to his lofty opinions but also preached them to others and undermined her work as surely as a crack in a building’s foundation would.

      Piling the books one on top of the other before her, she felt a shiver of anticipation as she realized that his response to the last Goodfellow essay would be published in just a few days. All of Edinburgh, indeed all of England and Scotland, would be aflutter with discussions of it. Last month, a brawl had broken out at a pub frequented by the literati of Edinburgh over the opinions stated in Lord Treybourne’s essay. Goodfellow had defenders of his own who stood up with their voices and their fists and more than one ended up in the arms of the law due to the violence.

      Anna had hoped for educated discourse, not crude brutality, but if it brought more attention to the plight of those she tried to help, it served a purpose. Hopefully, this month’s exchanges would raise the level from coarse to thought-provoking once more.

      She placed her bonnet on her head and tied the ribbons. Gathering her books and reticule into the basket she used for such things, she carried her well-worn spencer over her arm, not knowing yet if the temperature would necessitate its wearing. The sun’s rays that invaded the room through the front windows and threw dappled shadows on the floor promised not, but Anna knew better. Pulling open the door, she was greeted by a rush of fresh, warm air. Tugging it closed behind her, Anna stepped down onto the walk and glanced up the street.

      There, not fifty yards away, stood Mr. Archer! This was the third time this week that she’d found him along the path to the Gazette’s office, but this was the first time he was so obvious in his intent to intercept her on her way there. Impeccably dressed, looking quite dashing for midday, he spoke with the coachman who held his horse’s reins in the street. He noticed her almost as soon as she saw him.

      “Miss Fairchild! Good day,” he said as he walked toward her. “If you are going to New Town, may I offer you a ride?” He tipped his hat and waited on her response.

      “Have you been waiting for me, Mr. Archer? This is the third day in a row that our paths have crossed.”

      Riding with a gentleman of short acquaintance was most likely on the edge of prudent behavior, but the carriage was open and would discourage any untoward behavior. Not that she thought him planning such things, but, as her aunt had warned her countless times, a lady must be cognizant of such possibilities at all times.

      He glanced over her head, seeming to take note of exactly which building she’d exited from. Ah, so he’d positioned himself close to where he thought she was and then waited on her appearance from one of the houses. Now she knew without a doubt that he was following her, but for what reason? Before she could ask, he lifted the basket from her arm and held out his arm to her.

      “Although the rooms that I am renting during my stay necessitate this route to get to the New Town, I do confess to a nefarious purpose, Miss Fairchild,” he said, his arm steady

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