“As you say, madam.” Lord Greystone bowed with an exaggerated flourish. “But I shall leave the next washing to these good men.” His brow furrowed briefly. “Perhaps you can advise me...never mind. You have brought the solution with you.” He beckoned to Lucy. “Crawford, we have discussed the direction of your granddaughter’s training, and now I know exactly what she will do. The lads will require a nursemaid with youthful energy to keep up with them, and she is just the one to do it.”
Lucy emitted a tiny squeak that sounded to Beatrice like a protest, but Crawford’s quick glare silenced her instantly.
“As you wish, sir.” The butler gave her a furtive wave, and she curtseyed even as she bit her lower lip and stared at the floor.
Beatrice’s heart went out to the girl, despite her failure to know her place. Chasing two small boys all day would leave her little time and energy to learn the duties of a lady’s maid. But Beatrice would not interfere. After all, she could not pay Lucy. Perhaps this was the Lord’s will for the girl, just as He willed for Beatrice to be humbled by the restrictions of her own situation. In this matter both of them must endure their disappointments.
To her shock, Lord Greystone approached her. “Did you enjoy your visit to St. Ann’s?” Despite his friendly tone, he did not smile.
Still, her foolish heart skipped at this singular attention. “I did indeed. The girls are very sweet, and they adore Mrs. Parton.” Looking up into his intense blue eyes, she found herself a bit breathless.
Now he grinned, but his smile was directed at the older lady. “As do I, and all who know her.” True affection beamed from his eyes, and Beatrice could not help but long to receive that sort of approval. Before she could offer her own praise of her employer, he turned to Crawford with orders about the care of the boys.
Beatrice watched the viscount while admiration for his Christian beneficence replaced her personal longings. She could not imagine Papa in this setting. He had barely noticed his footmen, let alone bantered with them as Lord Greystone now did. Nor had Papa ever extended any kindnesses to the children in the village near Melton Gardens. He had left all charitable work to Mama, and she had relished those activities. Yet in this family it was the viscount who enjoyed helping the helpless. Perhaps she would have to revise her former opinion that all peers thought only of their own interests.
“Come along, Bea.” Mrs. Parton once again pulled her from the room. “At last we can have our tea with Lady Greystone.”
Cringing again at the nickname, Beatrice nevertheless followed. But if she had her choice between taking tea with the haughty Lady Greystone and tending orphans with the lady’s suddenly amiable son, she had no trouble deciding which she would rather do.
Chapter Six
Greystone had never felt such satisfaction over a simple act of charity. Or perhaps this was not quite so simple. He still had to contend with Mother. But somehow the approval of Mrs. Parton—and, he must admit, Lady Beatrice, as well—reassured him that he was doing God’s will. And to think that the young lady cared nothing about soiling her new gloves and gown. That was a wonder in itself.
For his part he found the soot on his own breeches and shirt something akin to a badge of honor. But a few marks on his clothing were nothing like the many bruises on the two little boys. Obviously they had been caned, for large welts covered their backs and legs. Greystone was sickened to think of anyone treating a child so cruelly. He had felt the whip when he was near Kit’s age, and the sight of those injuries caused his own back to sting with the memories.
Gilly, Greystone’s body servant since he had turned four years old, had washed away tears and tended wounds, but never spoken a word against Greystone’s father, though he had inflicted countless physical and emotional wounds.
“My lord, the physician is here.” Crawford motioned to the young, black-clad gentleman who had just entered the chamber.
“My lord, I came as quickly as I could.” Dr. Horton gave Greystone a quick bow before turning his attention to the boys. At the sight of them he blinked, his brown eyebrows arched and his jaw dropped. “My lord—?”
“Yes, my good man.” Greystone put on a serious face, although he wanted to laugh at the confusion on the man’s countenance. “These are my new charges.” As he made the declaration, the weight of his new responsibility bore down upon him. Did he have the right to assume the care of these lads? He must find out who they were and whether their parents had truly sold them to the master sweep, lest he be considered a kidnapper. Just the work for his brother Edmond, who was studying law. Or, in the event criminals were at work in this, perhaps a Bow Street Runner.
While the footmen cleaned up the mess caused by the thrashing boys in the bath, Greystone apprised Dr. Horton of the events of the past two hours. He ended with orders that he should not mind the embedded grime, for it would grow out eventually. At least he hoped so, for if not, it would mark the lads forever and limit their possibilities. And while he could have left the chamber and been done with the affair, he found himself unable to abandon the two round-eyed boys, one wincing in pain, the other quaking in fear.
“Easy now, Kit. What is your brother’s name?” Greystone asked.
Kit had been cradling his injured arm in the other, but he let go and put the good one around the smaller lad. “This ’ere’s Ben, sir.” He whispered something in his brother’s ear that seemed to comfort him, for his shaking grew less intense.
“I am pleased to meet you, Ben.” Greystone gave him a slight bow, earning a gasp from Dr. Horton.
“Why, my lord, these are nothing but—”
“My charges, as I said.” Greystone schooled the man with a sharp look. “You must treat them with all courtesy.” He softened his expression. “Do tend to his arm straightaway. I shall not rest until we know its condition.”
After an examination of said appendage, the doctor confirmed Lady Beatrice’s astute diagnosis. “Not broken, but severely sprained. It seems a previous break healed incorrectly. The only remedy is to re-break it and set it properly.”
Kit exploded with a howl of protest. “I like me arm as it is, gov’ner.” At Crawford’s scolding harrumph, he winced and added, “milord.”
The distress on his face, mirrored on Ben’s, cut into Greystone’s heart. Poor terrified children. “There now, do not be frightened. We have no intention of causing you further pain.”
“Most of the bruises will heal soon enough.” Dr. Horton completed his examination of both boys and prescribed treatment for several ailments, both internal and external. “And of course they are dreadfully thin, as climbing-boys must be to do their work.”
His comment brought Greystone up short. Of course sweeps must be small enough to crawl inside chimneys, and many were children. It was a nasty but necessary business, for London would burn to the ground without well-cleaned chimneys. But he could not countenance such young boys being pressed into that service. He must examine the laws to discover exactly how young a climbing-boy could be, and perhaps find some way to ease their lives. “Yes, well, Kit and Ben will soon be too fat for cleaning chimneys.”
That earned a few sniffles until he knelt before them with a reassuring smile. “What do you say, lads? Would you like to learn a different trade?”
Each one gave him a solemn nod, although he doubted they knew what he meant.
“Well then, we’ll get you some clothes and food while we decide exactly how to proceed.” He beckoned to the housemaid, and she stepped forward, her face as blank as her grandfather’s always was. “Lads, you must obey Lucy at all times, understand?”
More solemn nods. Kit leaned toward him and whispered, “Th’other lady promised sweeties.”
Greystone chuckled. “Lucy,