a downward course. Goodworth couldn’t be prouder of his accomplishment but never did he let pride override his hard work and intent to do more; to help others whether they be destitute, beaten or impaired.
He started for the stoop and paused a pace from the threshold. He glanced over his shoulder and caught a movement in the shadows as subtle as a change in the wind. In his peripheral vision, he noted someone approaching, a man in brown clothing, a hat pulled low on his brow, and he remembered an incident not long ago when a similar figure had looked him straight in the eyes and traced a finger across his throat. An unwelcome warning rang in his ears, though the man continued straight ahead, without a glance away from the sidewalk.
It couldn’t be a disgruntled gambler from the hell. No one knew of the connection between Second Chances and the Underworld. While his profits from the gaming hell provided the necessary funds to create and maintain the lodging house, not a soul was aware of his association and therefore no one could seek retribution, blackmail or threaten to expose his dual lifestyle. Exposure would endanger everyone involved in either of his life’s ventures.
Shaking off his misgivings, he entered to find Charlie leaning on the wall string of the staircase leading to the upper-level rooms. Someday the boy would make a fine hand at the Underworld watching horses at the curb for a coin, but he needed time to grow and develop.
‘What are you doing here, Charlie? Shouldn’t you be at lessons by now?’ Goodworth crouched to the boy’s level, his scrawny five-year-old frame increasing in health more each day.
‘I am waiting for you. At breakfast, Miss Maggie mentioned you’d be by today.’ The child smiled, his grin made wider by the absence of two front teeth.
‘I have something for you. I think you’ll be pleased.’ Goodworth removed a small paper sack from his pocket. ‘There’s hardbake for you and your friends. Be sure to share it. Once Tommy ate the whole bag himself and, aside from disappointing his chums, spent the afternoon with an upset stomach.’
‘I will do so, sir.’ Charlie nabbed the bag and immediately unfolded the top, his eyes round as he peeked inside.
‘Not just yet,’ Goodworth tempered. ‘Let’s have a look at your shoe first.’ With gentle consideration, he lifted the boy’s left leg and removed his boot. Then, retrieving a rectangular package from his back pocket, he laid a flat cushioned insert inside against the sole. ‘There now. I had it specially sized for you.’ He replaced the footwear and extended his hand so Charlie could stand. ‘See how it feels. The padding should compensate for the disparity caused by your limp.’
‘What?’ Charlie looked at him, his little face screwed into a puzzle of confusion.
‘I’m sorry, lad.’ Goodworth rose and chuckled. ‘Your shoe will help your leg now. That’s all you need to know.’
Charlie stood and tested his walk, his gait improved, his smile returned. ‘Thank you, sir.’ He hugged Goodworth’s legs before he snatched the bag of treats from the step and escaped through a nearby doorway.
Happy with the outcome, Goodworth continued up the stairs and into the main dining area. It was a fine room, painted pale yellow and conducive to easing one’s mind and mood if a full stomach didn’t accomplish the same. Maggie was at the table, teaching two women how to read. She glanced up and caught his eye as he entered. Then she instructed the women to practise while she stepped away for a moment.
‘I’d hoped you would appear today. So much is happening. I need your advice.’ Maggie rose on her toes and bussed his cheek.
She was the older sister, makeshift mother he never had, and a kind-hearted, intelligent woman who had devoted endless time to improving the condition of others. He valued her friendship more than any association and admired her efforts here. Now that they were established, she oversaw most all parts of Second Chances and he supplied the funds. ‘I came by your house just yesterday morning, but you weren’t at home.’ His response was all question with no accusation.
‘I decided to spend the night here. Actually, I’ve been here for two nights now. Miranda’s baby is due to arrive and I don’t want her to be alone. She’s scared no matter she’s surrounded by women who have birthed children and know the way of things more so than I.’ Maggie’s expression altered and he was unsure how to respond. Thankfully she continued straight after. ‘Have you heard anything unusual concerning Parliament’s arguments lately? I don’t always have time to read the paper and I know you’re more likely to garner carry-over conversation than I.’
‘Nothing of relevance as a matter of change.’ He lifted a biscuit from the platter on the table and chewed a bite. ‘Some nobs are pushing for reform, but most aren’t. I suspect there is one driving force that keeps all from agreeing on drastic modification and opposition of the laws.’ He finished the biscuit before he continued. ‘I’d like to discover the individuals who fuel the resistance, but last I checked I wasn’t fit to sit at the House of Lords.’ He caught Maggie’s eye where she tidied the table and collected crumbs. ‘The corridors of power remain divided on how to offer help and spend funds while the ratepayers argue the cost of maintaining the system is already alarmingly high. No one offers a voice for the people who suffer under a severe strain of the system.’ He shook his head. ‘We will never affect change within the government, but at least we do good work here, Maggie. We offer a chance for those who would have no other place to go.’ Bastard birth, abandonment and other unpardonable sins were a stain on the soul one could never erase.
‘Of course. I’m proud of you.’ She touched his arm lightly. ‘Unwed mothers, lost children, elderly and infirm. You’ve never failed anyone who has come to us for help. You are a good man.’ She offered a beaming smile. ‘Even with that bootblack on the back of your ear.’ She reached forward and wiped a smear of the colour from his skin. ‘Now I need to return to the girls before they forget everything I’ve taught for the last half hour.’ She didn’t say more and didn’t need to, her no-nonsense words and kind smile more than enough.
Kent slammed a fist against the table and jarred the silverware into an agitated tremble, Gemma unnerved in kind to the forks and spoons. She’d come down to breakfast with a riot of emotion fighting for attention; frustration over her father’s death, her inability to discover truthful information, Rosalind’s upset, and the divine experience of receiving her first kiss. The last thing she needed was for her brother to be in high temper when she sought quiet to sort out her confusion.
‘Were I a different man I would bring my argument directly to the source of the problem, but as the Duke of Kent and honoured member of Parliament, I am restricted to arguments in the House of Lords and long, tiresome petitions that accomplish little more than lulling those who listen into slumber.’ He placed a folded note on the damask tablecloth and noticed her for the first time. ‘Good morning, Gemma.’ His grumble was a complete contradiction of the sentiment.
‘Good morning.’ She strove for a cheerful tone. ‘What has you so upset that you’ve ignored your coddled eggs?’ Perhaps she could cajole him into a better mood. She’d like nothing more than to travel to Charing Cross and seek Miss Devonshire again this morning. If she could determine his agenda she could better arrange her own.
‘I cannot eat.’ He shoved his plate forward and a footman swept in to remove it. ‘The problems of this city are not fit conversation for a lady’s ear.’
Gemma couldn’t help but laugh. ‘That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Perhaps if men were more open-minded, solutions could be had with greater alacrity.’
‘I do not have the energy for a debate on that subject. Men and women play different roles in our society, just as the aristocracy and the poor need to learn their place. The squalid living conditions of Seven Dials and the crime-infested surrounding area are worsening at an alarming rate. If something isn’t done to drive out these foul, lazy indigents and better our London, we are all doomed to disease and pestilence.’ There was no mistaking the imperative edge to his words.
‘Oh dear.’ She wasn’t sure how to respond, considering she’d only visited Charing