I have been thinking again what might be done for some of the children beyond the charity school. It is all very well that they learn to read and write and are introduced to the idea of their Maker, and they have at least bread and tea at the school. But what will happen when they are too old for the school? Beyond a few that I have found apprenticeships for, I sometimes fear that I am only preparing them for a life of educated poverty. Most of their parents earn a few shillings when they can and sink below the law when they cannot. I know of many improvements which could be made to the district—shutting all the gin shops would be the first thing!—but I fear there is nothing I can do, myself, in time to help the poor children who are even now lying on rags to sleep not far from my door.
Your loving son,
John
My Dear John,
After spending two hours in the company of your cousin James today, and weary of his affectations and selfishness disguised as drollery, I read your letter. You are refreshing, my dear. I do hate to think of you toiling so unrewarded in that degenerate place (only you will say that you are rewarded), but I have no doubt that even with all your cares, you are the happier man. You are not answerable for righting the wrongs of all the world, or even of Shoreditch. To do what you can to help even one of these poor souls is all that is required of you, and you are doing that. Give thanks that you are able to do such a noble thing. I know you will not forget that you are a shepherd of the souls of these people, not the steward of their health and education. Do the work you were ordained to do and do not be tempted to neglect it for the sake of what seem to be more urgent and immediate needs. I have no doubt you will be guided into what you ought to do.
With much love,
Your Mama
Chapter 2
My Dear Mrs. Darcy,
I was pleased to make your acquaintance at the ball last week and would be glad to know you further. If you would visit me tomorrow morning, I would be most grateful.
Yours with esteem,
Isabel, Lady Hampshire
My Dear Jane,
I was surprised yesterday to receive an invitation from Lady Hampshire to visit her this morning. She graciously noticed us at her ball last week, paying particular attention to both Georgiana and Kitty when she had no apparent reason to. I was also surprised that the invitation was extended only to me and did not include the girls. All became clear, however, when I went today to visit her.
Jane, she thinks that Kitty and Mr. Caldicot would be a good match! Evidently his mother is a bosom friend of hers and has charged her with finding him a wife! Moreover, there is some reason to suppose that he likes Kitty in a distant, detached way. Her object in seeing me was to discover if there was some way of throwing them together. Not that (she was careful to assure me) she wanted either of them to be forced together against their inclination, but she had reason to think that they might come to admire each other on their own, if only they could be in each other’s company more often.
I am going to help. I could, of course, invite Mr. Caldicot again for dinner—I told you of his coming when we first arrived in London, did I not?—but I think he was so serious and earnest that Kitty saw only the clerical side of him. Since she has never demonstrated a burning passion for vicars, it is doubtful if that trait alone would attract her. Therefore, I must think of some other way. Lady Hampshire will also do all she can, but she must tread warily. She says that if Mr. Caldicot suspects her of matchmaking, he will run far and fast.
I am thankful to hear that you continue well, and I am sorry for the problem with the kitchen-maid. You and Charles have shown more patience with her than I could command.
With much love,
Lizzy
Dear Sir—
I write to you in haste at the bidding of my sister, Mrs. Darcy, to beg your assistance. We have in our care a little crippled girl who was injured and who seems to have no home. We are reluctant, after hearing what you have told us, to give her over to the parish for help, and beg you might write, or come, and advise us about what to do.
With humble entreaties,
Catherine Bennet
Dear Jane,
We have had such an adventure! On Tuesday, Lizzy, Georgiana, and I were in the carriage, going through Westminster. The road was crowded with horses and carriages and our own carriage was moving slowly. I was looking out the window, as Lizzy had just said that we might see the river if we looked quickly, and I saw a young child being tormented by other children. They were all in a group, kicking her as she was on the ground—terrible sight! Without even thinking I lowered the window and called to them to stop, but they did not hear me. Or at any rate, they did not regard me.
Lizzy bid the coachman to stop and see if he could render assistance to the little girl. The wretched children fled at his approach, leaving the little girl behind. She was about four or five years old and had a crippled leg. She had been struck on the head and was bleeding and insensible. We took her into the carriage and at length she opened her eyes and was able to speak, but when we asked where she lived, she said she had no home or family. We could scarcely believe that to be so, but the coachman knocked on the door of the nearest house and asked if the child belonged to them. The woman who answered it recognized the child but said she begs on the street all day and sleeps wherever she can.
Well! We did not know what to do. The coachman said she was the responsibility of the parish, but Mr. Caldicot had told us when he came to dinner about how the parish can do almost nothing for children like these. I said that I wished Mr. Caldicot was there to tell us what we had best do with her, and Lizzy said that we ought to take her home with us and put her in the charge of one of the servants while we wrote a note to Mr. Caldicot asking for his advice. The coachman plainly did not think we ought to do anything with the child ourselves, but he said nothing and we took the little girl back to the house. We asked what her name was when she was able to talk, and she said she was Annie.
After I wrote a note to Mr. Caldicot, we gave her a bath. That is, one of the housemaids bathed her, but I was there too, as she was so frightened that she cried for me whenever I tried to leave the room. Jane, I do not think that child had ever had a bath! One of the other maids was sent to buy her some clothes, as her own were more ragged than anything I have seen in the whole of my life. Her poor leg is badly bent; Sarah (the maid) said that it was probably broken when she was younger and it never mended properly.
When the girl was clean, we gave her some food, and she ate a prodigious amount. Georgiana said she had never seen any child eat so much. Of course, I do not think Georgiana has seen many children eat. Her brother is so much older than she that they were never in the nursery together, and she was never allowed to have playfellows from the village, as we were. She says she does not know what to do with children, although it was plain to see that she had much compassion for little Annie.
We did not know how long it would take for Mr. Caldicot to write and advise us, or to come himself, but he arrived on our doorstep three hours later, apologizing for his tardiness! He asked us a great number of questions about how we had found Annie, and what things had been done for her. He said that we were very right not to give her up to the parish, but he was in a quandary about what should be done for her instead. I asked about the Foundling Hospital, but Mr. Caldicot said that Annie was too old to be admitted there. Finally he asked if we could care for her a little longer, until he might find a family who might be willing to take her in. Lizzy said that we would, and also that she was sure Mr. Darcy would be able to contribute to Annie’s support. Mr. Caldicot looked much happier at that, and he said that if Mr. Darcy was willing to sponsor the child, as it were, he had no doubt he could find a family who would care for her.