The Foundling (Rags to Richmonds #3)

Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T he following day was a Gold Day—Frederica’s term for those rare and special times when children left Taverstock to begin a new life with a new family. They were few and far between, and each one incredibly hard won, but they marked the pinnacle of her work at the orphanage and always left her with a feeling of bittersweet elation. She would miss Nancy dearly, for she had been a darling, but the high-spirited little four-year-old was so well suited to her new mother and father, sadness could not persist for long.

In recognition of the success, Mr Mulligan had allowed Mrs Digby to purchase a ham for those who were dining at the house that evening, and Reverend Thorne had provided a bottle of wine for them to share. Everybody who worked at Taverstock was entitled to a hot meal at the end of the day, but commonly, only Frederica, the cook, and whichever of the schoolmasters and mistresses were on night watch did so—though Mr Milliard had taken to eating there every day, regardless. Frederica fancied it was because he was lonely. To her amusement, the promise of a hearty meal that day drew a far larger contingent than usual, thus they all received but a pitiful thimbleful of wine each.

“When will you visit Nancy?” Daisy asked.

“I’ll not be able to,” Frederica replied. “The family are moving to the north, so that will be the last we see of her.”

“Why would you want to visit her? She ain’t your concern no more,” Mrs Pargeter said. The nurse was a funny old stick, doting on the infants in the nursery as though they were her own until it came time for them to move on, at which point she handed them over with a dry eye and nary a backwards glance.

“I try to visit all the children who are adopted locally at least once,” Frederica said. “These things do not always go as planned. The governors have had to readmit more than one child.”

“You are very conscientious,” Mr Milliard observed. “I cannot say that I ever heard of other orphanages taking such an interest in their charges.”

“’Tis something close to your heart, though, is it not, Miss Child?” Mrs Digby said. “How many times was you abandoned ’twixt being orphaned and ending up here?”

“Mrs Digby, really ,” Mr Carnegie said in a low voice, gesturing with an expressive sideways nod to everyone around the table.

Frederica smiled; the stained and pockmarked table in the back corner of an orphanage’s kitchen was hardly the place to be precious about such things. “It is well, sir. I am not ashamed of my past.”

“Quite right,” Mr Milliard said, not looking up but nodding at his plate. “Too many people feel the need to conceal their beginnings, when there ought to be no shame in it, for none of us can help where we come from, can we?”

Rupert caught Frederica’s eye and smiled ruefully. “Mr Milliard is right. You oughtn’t to be ashamed. And anyone who makes you feel as though you should be, is a dunderhead.”

She smiled warmly to hear his implicit apology. “Thank you, Rupert.”

“Are you going to tell us about them, then?” he asked.

Her heart lurched. “Who?”

“Your family. I should have asked before now. I am sorry. But you met them yesterday, did you not? How did you get on?”

Rupert grinned broadly as he said this, evidently pleased with himself; Frederica was certain his question was asked with the best of intentions. She still wished profoundly that he had not said anything. Her cheeks flamed under the weight of every pair of eyes around the table.

“What does he mean?” Daisy asked. “What family? I thought you were an orphan?”

Frederica swallowed. “I…well, I…”

She looked helplessly at Rupert, but he misunderstood the cause of her distress and announced, “Turns out our Fred’s only Miss Frederica Richmond, long-lost granddaughter of an earl!”

Everybody stilled. Frederica held her breath.

“You’re a swell?” Daisy asked, wide-eyed.

Mrs Digby’s countenance reddened; Mr Carnegie’s brow furrowed; Mrs Pargeter turned up her nose. Frederica could guess what would come next, for pride made vipers of even the best people, and nobody who was used to thinking of her as an unremarkable, orphaned, servant-of-all-work was likely to be content with looking upon her as nobility.

“I would not like any of you to treat me any differently,” she said emphatically.

“I should hope not!” Mrs Pargeter scoffed. “Because if you think I’m going to start bowing and scraping to you, you’ve another think coming!”

“It is highly doubtful to be true, Mrs Pargeter,” Mr Carnegie said. “I expect somebody is playing a trick on the poor lass.” He shook his head pityingly at Frederica. “I thought you were cleverer than to fall for such a ruse.”

“It is not a ruse?—”

But the schoolmaster spoke over her, berating her for having ideas above her station. Rupert’s face fell as he watched her flounder. He leant closer to say, quietly, “I’m sorry. I was trying to make amends.”

“I know. ’Tis not your fault.”

“You’ll be leaving, then, will you?” Mrs Digby said sharply. “Would that you’d said your goodbyes before we shared out the wine, then us humble folk might’ve had our fair share. ”

“I am not going anywhere, Mrs Digby. I have no wish to leave Taverstock.”

“You cannot imagine you will be able to stay,” Mr Carnegie said disparagingly. “The governors would never agree to it.”

“The governors are aware?—”

“ I’d never agree to it!” Mrs Pargeter interrupted with an incredulous huff. “And Mrs Woods certainly won’t. She’s not going to like this. Not one bit.”

“You think you know someone!” Mrs Digby said. “All this time you’ve been lying to us!”

“I did not lie,” Frederica insisted, shaking her head and feeling the sting of tears in her eyes. She had known the news would come as a surprise and might even be disliked, but she had not imagined anything as unpleasant as this. It was as though they thought it nothing more than a cruel trick she had played on them. It grieved her that these people, whom she had known and worked with for so many years, comprehended her no better.

“Come, come, now. Have we not just agreed that nobody can help where they come from?”

Everybody looked at Mr Milliard, who had said this in a quiet, unruffled voice, and who continued to cut up his meat as though nothing were amiss. He glanced up at them all, a look of mild surprise on his face. “Does Miss Child’s descent make her endeavours at Taverstock any less meaningful? Does her grandfather’s title make young Nancy’s adoption today any less real?”

“There’ll be no more adoptions if you leave,” Mrs Digby said to her bitterly. “Or those that do happen will be all wrong. What about those poor Baxter children, eh? There’ll be no keeping them together without you to fight their corner.”

“Miss Child has just said she has no intention of leaving Taverstock,” Mr Milliard said.

“She ain’t Miss Child, is she?” Mrs Pargeter retorted. “She’s Miss Richmond—granddaughter of an earl! How are we to get along, what with her being so high and mighty?”

“Exactly as you always have, I imagine,” he replied. “Did you not hear Miss Child—or Miss Richmond , if you will—say that she hoped none of you would treat her any differently? Is that not a fine concession? I am sure I should not be so liberal in her situation.”

After an uncomfortable silence, some of the party began to grudgingly mumble their agreement that it was, indeed, a fine concession, although the nurse continued to saw away at her ham with pursed lips.

Frederica scarcely had the words to express how deeply she appreciated Mr Milliard’s assistance. “Thank you, sir.”

He shrugged and gave her an easy smile. “You would not be the first person to end up in a life different to the one destined for them at birth. It does not follow that you ought to feel ashamed of who you are. I second Mr Dalton’s request for you to tell us about your family. I should like to hear all about them.”

Frederica glanced at everyone nervously. Most of the party studiously avoided her gaze, but Daisy piped up, “I’d like to hear, too. ”

As it turned out, an estranged father, a titled uncle, two twin sisters who had begun life in drudgery and were both now married to earls, and a cousin—she was careful to refer to him as such—who was a viscount, was sufficient intrigue to banish much of everybody’s surliness. Mrs Pargeter’s ears pricked at the news that Adelaide was with child, shamelessly requesting that Frederica recommend her as a nurse. Mrs Digby thought it the most romantic thing in the world that Frederica’s mother and father had shunned the Tipton fortune to elope.

“The apple don’t fall far from the tree, do it, dear? For you mean to do the same and shun their money to stay here with us.”

Frederica thought it wisest not to mention the inheritance due from her father.

“I say!” Mr Milliard exclaimed. “Your uncle is the Earl of Tipton , you say? His seat is near Barford, in Bedfordshire, is it not?”

“I believe so,” Frederica replied. “Although I have never been there.”

“I have! I lived there in my younger days. Many years ago, now, but…pray, who did you say your mother was?”

“Miss Susan Browning.”

He slapped his palm on the table. “That’s it! I thought you were familiar! I knew Miss Browning.”

“You knew my mother?” Frederica asked tremulously, her heart racing.

“Not well, admittedly, but well enough to say how do you do. Well enough to remember her face—and I must say, my dear, you are the picture of her. ”

Frederica inhaled sharply with the rush of pleasure that suffused her at his words. “Truly?”

“Truly,” he said, nodding.

“That means a great deal to me, sir. I confess I was a little dismayed to have only the slightest resemblance to Lord Oakley and none at all to either of my sisters—particularly with them being twins. To know it is because I take after my mother instead is—well, it is a gift! Thank you.”

“I can take no credit—it was a coincidence quite outside my control, but I am glad it has given you relief.” He set his knife and fork down and pushed his empty plate away. “Do they look like each other, then, your sisters and cousin?”

His question made her consider, as she had not before, the convenience of the want of a strong resemblance between Oakley and his sisters. It diverted her, then flustered her, for she stood a far better chance of keeping his secret if she did not dwell on it so! Praying that her discomposure would not make her blush, she answered, “Not noticeably so. My sisters tell me they take after their— our —paternal grandmother, and Lord Oakley apparently takes after his father, but I cannot vouch for it, for I have never set eyes on either.”

“But you have a slight resemblance to the viscount, you said.”

She nodded shyly. “There seems to be a little something similar about our mouths.”

“Well then, now you have a family resemblance on both sides,” he said with a warm smile .

She beamed at him, bursting with gratitude.

“Is he much older than you?” Mr Milliard asked.

Frederica baulked upon realising she did not know. Come to think of it, she knew not how old the twins were, either. It was a mortifying revelation. “Um…not much older, I do not think. I am ashamed to say, I did not think to ask.”

“That is to be expected, seeing as how you’ve only just met them,” Mrs Digby said, her words and her tone significantly kinder now. “It’s only the same as it is with the littl’uns when they come to us. Takes time to get to know them, that’s all. Can’t find out every detail on the first day.”

Mrs Pargeter gave a grunt and nodded sagely as though she had been advocating this approach all along. “Best way is not to rush the matter. You’ve a lifetime to catch up on, Miss Richmond. Take your time.”

They took it in turns, thereafter, to advise Frederica on how best to proceed with her family. It felt as though they were giving her permission to have one outside of Taverstock—as though the two might, after all, be compatible. Frederica felt herself relax. It was a profound relief not to have permanently lost her friends’ good opinion—to know they only required time to overcome their shock. She was sensible to the fact that Mr Milliard’s well-judged intervention had smoothed away their initial hostility. For that, and for the priceless information about her mother, she would be forever indebted to him.