“Is there anyone at the Foundling Hospital, if I were to go there myself, you suggest I speak to?” I asked. “The vicar wishes me to be discreet—to not upset the matrons or other children. Who could I talk to who would keep a confidence?”
Elsie thought. “There’s a cook, Mrs. Compton. She’s the best of the lot—maybe she’d speak to you. Maids would know more, but the one on Mabel’s ward is sour as can be. Old Miss Nick, we called her, though her name’s Bessie.”
“Mrs. Compton then.” I committed the names she’d given me to memory. “Now to think of a reason to enter the kitchens of the Foundling Hospital,” I murmured, half to myself.
“Her ladyship could do it.” Elsie’s eyes sparkled. “She could pretend to be a charity lady and you could visit with her. Or she could go on a Sunday afternoon to watch Sunday dinner.”
I pulled myself out of my ponderings to gaze at her in surprise. “Watch Sunday dinner? How does one watch a dinner?”
“It’s a fine thing for ladies and gentlemen, innit? To pay a shilling or tuppence, or whatever it is, to view the foundling boys and girls eating their charity food. All in a row we’d sit, all in our same frocks, happy to have our grub. They’d file in and watch us like we were animals in a menagerie, they would. Talking all about us as they did.”
I’d heard of such things—a person could pay to stare at madmen in Bedlam, or at the convicts in Millbank. The directors of the places used the fees they collected to keep said place in funds. Wretched humanity on display. I would have hoped children would be spared.
“I am sorry,” I said, a bit awkwardly. “It is a pity you had to endure such things.”
Elsie shrugged, but I saw her stiffness. “Was better than starving in the streets, wann’t it? The matron could be hard, but we was fed and warm. And now I’m here.” She gave the copper pots and her sink full of dishes an almost fond look. “Could do worse, couldn’t I?”
I patted her shoulder. “You’re a diligent worker and a good girl, Elsie. I can ask Mrs. Bywater to consider making you a downstairs maid, so your hands won’t be in dishwater all the livelong day.”
Elsie looked alarmed, not grateful. “I like the kitchen, Mrs. Holloway. None bother me here, and you don’t mind my singing.”
I wondered if she’d learned to sing over her task from kind Nurse Betts. “Truth to tell, I like you down here with me,” I said. “But there is no need for you to be a scullery maid forever. You might even become a housekeeper one day. Mrs. Redfern was a tweeny as a girl.”
“Was she?” Elsie looked doubtful. Tweenies were maids who looked after upper servants, such as the housekeeper and lady’s maid. “Bit haughty now, ain’t she?”
Elsie darted a fearful look behind me after the words slipped out, as though Mrs. Redfern might pop up from the slates and overhear, but the kitchen was empty of all but Tess.
“She remembers her origins,” I said. “That is why she is fair-minded.”
Elsie looked chagrined. “Sorry, Mrs. H.”
“Never you mind. We’ll keep our opinions between ourselves. Thank you, Elsie.”
Elsie gave me an answering curtsy. “Can I get back to my dishes now, ma’am?”
“Of course.” I sent her a smile and left her, not wanting to unnerve her any longer. Elsie was a sweet girl, but she could break crockery when agitated.
She’d given me much to think on, I reflected as I returned to my vegetables. Much indeed.
* * *
* * *
Miss Townsend came down with Lady Cynthia later that afternoon. As the evening before, Miss Townsend dressed modestly, in a trim dress buttoned to her throat, her hair in a simple knot, and wore no jewelry, not even a ring or brooch.
Cynthia introduced her to me and an avid Tess, who scanned Miss Townsend as though hoping she’d do something scandalous on the spot. Miss Townsend gave Tess a little smile, the amusement in her eyes telling me she knew full well how others viewed lady artists.
I led Miss Townsend to the corner, from which I’d moved the empty crates. “I’ve put a chair for you here, miss,” I said, giving it a dust off with my hand. “Not very comfortable, I am afraid.”
“Never mind.” Miss Townsend turned the smile to me and sat down regally, as though I’d offered her the best chair in a luxurious hotel. “This will do nicely. Thank you, Mrs. Holloway.”
She’d brought a satchel, which she set on the floor next to her after withdrawing a rather small sketchbook. I’d seen people of leisure sitting in parks with such books, sketching away at the scenery.
As she flipped to a clean page, I saw that part of the book had already been filled. Faces jumped out at me, one of them Cynthia’s, but the pages moved too fast for me to study the pictures. I saw large flowers skim past and ordinary things like chairs and windows, all very lifelike.
“Quite beautiful,” I said. “If you don’t mind my saying, miss. Very skilled.”
Miss Townsend acknowledged this with a small nod. “You are kind. Thank you.”
“And she is modest,” Cynthia broke in. “Overly so, I’d say. Monsieur Degas praised her work, and he is notoriously hard to please. And has little use for the female sex.”
I agreed with this difficult-to-please man that Miss Townsend’s work—what I could glimpse of it—was indeed worth praise.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Cynthia said. “Mrs. Holloway’s a good sort, so if you have any need, simply ask her. She can provide you with food and drink that tastes of heaven.”
“Hardly heaven,” I said in mild rebuke.
“Now you are the modest one.” Cynthia laughed at me and strode off, calling a greeting to Mr. Davis as she went.
That man entered the kitchen, radiating disapproval. He took in Miss Townsend, who settled herself and quietly took out a pencil, but pinched his lips together and said not a word. He and Mrs. Redfern had been told to expect Miss Townsend’s presence, and both had expressed disapprobation.
However, Mr. Davis would never air his grievances in front of a guest. He only gave me a look and glided out again.
Miss Townsend had been sharpening her pencil with a knife, but I saw her flash of eyes that told me she’d taken in Mr. Davis’s admonition.
“What do ye want us to do?” Tess asked Miss Townsend in eagerness.
“Nothing at all,” Miss Townsend replied. “Go about your business. I will keep out of your way.”
Tess looked a bit disappointed, but she returned to her task of rolling out dough for this evening’s tarts. She couldn’t cease glancing every few seconds at Miss Townsend, especially when that lady’s pencil began to whisper across the page.