She wrinkled her nose. None of her plans were that important. They never were. “Have John Coachman ready the carriage, please.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Pinkney said, bustling to the door.
Isabel squared her shoulders and paced before the fireplace as she waited. She must be firm this time and not take his refusal. If need be, she’d corner the wretched man in his bedroom. The shock alone at her scandalous behavior might turn the tide—
Her foot hit an object on the floor that went tumbling away. Isabel bent to pick it up. It was a painted wooden top, no bigger than her palm. For a moment she stared blankly at the toy before carefully placing it on her vanity table and leaving her bedroom.
Downstairs, Pinkney was tying on a bonnet. “Shall we be shopping, my lady?”
“No, we’re to the home again,” Isabel replied, ignoring the slump of her lady’s maid’s shoulders. “Please tell Carruthers that there’s a toy on my vanity table. I’d like her to take it away.”
“Yes, my lady.” Pinkney scurried to do her bidding.
In another few minutes, the carriage was ready and they were away. Isabel smoothed the skirts of her emerald gown. It was much too fine for visiting the home and he’d no doubt make note of that fact. She lifted her chin. Well, she didn’t care a fig for what Mr. Makepeace might think of her or her attire. The man had the dreary aspect of someone three times his age. That she would correct along with his manners.
They met with no delays and her carriage rolled to a stop a little over half an hour later outside the new home’s entrance. Harold opened the carriage door and set the step for her.
“Thank you,” Isabel murmured as she got out of the carriage. Pinkney, who’d dozed in the carriage, stifled a yawn and followed. “Tell John Coachman to take it ’round the corner, please. I’ll send a boy when I’m ready to leave.”
Isabel lifted her skirts and climbed the home’s front steps with Pinkney beside her.
“Shall I knock?” the lady’s maid asked.
“Please.”
Pinkney lifted the heavy iron knocker and let it fall. The lady’s maid fussed with her ornately embroidered turquoise skirts as they waited, and Isabel wondered—not for the first time—if her maid wasn’t upstaging her.
The door opened to reveal a freckled face.
Isabel couldn’t remember the boy’s name, but fortunately that didn’t matter at the home—all the boys had been christened “Joseph” and all the girls “Mary.”
“Good afternoon, Joseph,” she said with determined brightness. “Is Mr. Makepeace in?”
“He’s with the girl,” the boy said obscurely, his manner very solemn. He turned before Isabel could ask another question and led her back into the house.
The former Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children had been a tall, narrow building, nearly falling apart from age and poor structural materials. It had burned over a year ago, at which point the Ladies’ Syndicate for the Benefit of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children had been formed to construct this new building. The hallway that Isabel now traversed was wide and well lit, the plaster walls painted a soothing cream. To the right was a sitting room where visitors to the home might be received, and where in fact she’d seen Mr. Makepeace only the day before. But the boy led them past the sitting room. Directly ahead, the hall led back to a dining room and then the huge kitchens, and to the left was a wide marble staircase that gave access to the upper floors. The bones were all here, but Isabel couldn’t help thinking that they needed a bit more decoration upon them before the new home lost its current austere appearance.
The boy mounted the stairs without a word, and Isabel followed with Pinkney panting behind. They could hear the chatter of children and the slower murmur of adult voices as they passed the classrooms on the first floor above the ground floor. On the second floor were the dormitories, empty now during the day. Past the dormitories, at the end of the corridor, Joseph opened an unmarked door.
Inside was a small but cheerful room with a bright blue and white tiled fireplace and two tall windows to give light. Four cots were distributed along the wall, only one of which was occupied. A tiny child lay under the snowy sheets and counterpane, her dark brown hair spread upon the pillow. Curled beside her was a funny little dog with wiry white fur spotted in brown.
Winter Makepeace looked up from where he sat in a chair beside the bed. Fatigue lined his severe face, but his eyes widened in sudden alertness at the sight of her.
“Lady Beckinhall,” he said, his voice grating with weariness as he stood, “to what do I owe this second visit?”
“Pure stubbornness?” Isabel murmured whimsically. “Oh, do sit back down.” Obviously the man had spent the night caring for a sick child. She approached the bed and peered at the little face as the dog gave a tentative growl. “What’s wrong with her?”
Mr. Makepeace looked at the child, his face calm, but she could see a flicker of worry in the tightening of his lips. For the first time she noticed that his upper lip was wider than his bottom lip. A memory tickled at the back of her mind, faint and elusive. Where had she seen—
“I don’t know,” he answered her, scattering her train of thought. “I found her last night in an alley, the dog beside her. We’ve had the doctor in to see her, but he can give no more information than that she suffers from malnutrition and exhaustion.”
Isabel’s brows knit. “What’s her name?”
Mr. Makepeace shook his head. “She won’t speak.”
“She told me her dog’s name is Dodo,” Joseph offered. He’d taken the seat on the opposite side of the bed and his hand had crept to pat the little girl’s thin arm.
Mr. Makepeace inclined his head. “I beg your pardon. I should’ve said that the child will not speak to me—or any other adult. Joseph Tinbox says, however, that she has communicated with him briefly when they were alone.”
Joseph Tinbox nodded emphatically. “And her name is Peach.”
The adults all looked at him. Pinkney giggled. Isabel shot her a glance and the lady’s maid half choked as she stifled her laughter.