Albert took a deep breath at that. The poor man was already being forced to look after one woman while doing his work. He was probably wondering whether he would be able to do anything of use at all while watching after two women.
“I see,” he said finally. “Well. Let us be off, then. I have much to accomplish, and only so much daylight left to me.”
Albert turned with Dora to head for the front door—but Auntie Frances kept her back for just a moment, encouraging Albert to go ahead. When Dora gave her a curious look, Auntie Frances smiled down at her in a motherly fashion.
“We have discussed the matter with Miss Jennings,” Auntie Frances said. “She will be very obliging with you and Mr Lowe, Dora. You should have plenty of opportunity to catch his interest in whatever way you choose.”
Dora blinked at her slowly. “Auntie Frances,” she said. “Are you implying that I should openly flirt with Mr Lowe?” Perhaps such a thing should not have surprised her. Auntie Frances was less concerned with maintaining Dora’s reputation than she was in snaring poor Albert and gaining Lady Carroway’s favour for Vanessa, after all.
“You will be helping Mr Lowe directly,” Auntie Frances told Dora. “I am not sure what all that entails—but you could certainly be forgiven for brushing his hand or leaning in closely to him if it were for a noble, charitable cause. This situation is really quite a boon, Dora, and you must take full advantage while you can.”
Dora resisted the urge to sigh openly. “Of course, Auntie Frances,” she said. This day was looking to be steadily worse for Albert by the moment, and Dora noted to herself that she ought to apologise to him the first instant that she could manage it.
When Dora did rejoin Albert and Miss Jennings at the front door, she saw that Albert had brought an unmarked carriage with him. The driver was an older man with a stiff posture, a balding pate, and a very impressive, steel-grey moustache. Dora could not help but notice that this driver had a flintlock prominently displayed on him, as though to preemptively warn away troublemakers. He shot Albert a bemused look as the two ladies stepped into the carriage.
“I am glad that you have dressed practically, at least,” Albert observed to Dora, as the three of them settled into the carriage. “But I confess, I am not sure what to do with you. I have mentioned need for an assistant, but I will be tending to the sick and injured, and almost all of that will require dirtying your hands. Some of it will be very distressing indeed.”
Dora shrugged. “Auntie Frances was being truthful when she said that I have a very solid constitution,” she told Albert. “You may offer me what work would be useful. I promise to tell you if it would distress me overmuch.”
Albert frowned at that, but Dora suspected that he was genuinely considering her words as the carriage carried on. For her part, Dora hoped that Albert might take the words to heart. She was not prone to being upset, after all, and it would make her feel better about the foolish arrangement if she could at least offer Albert some semblance of real help in the process.
When the carriage finally came to a stop, Albert handed scarves to both Dora and Miss Jennings, advising that they wrap the cloth around their noses and mouths, and he soon did the same for himself. “There will be plenty of bile about,” he told them. “Be sure to stay as clean as possible while we are here.”
Here turned out to be an imposing prison-like building which Albert informed them to be the Cleveland Street Workhouse—a place of last resort for the poor and injured and indigent. As they entered, Dora was relieved to have the scarf over her nose, for the smell was absolutely abominable; there was upon the air some damp, acrid scent of lye which stung at her lungs, mixed with more than a hint of offal. Poor Miss Jennings looked about to faint—Dora slipped an arm through hers, just in case, and she felt the ex-governess lean slightly upon her.
Dora had heard only general things about the workhouses, but she had never had occasion to enter one before herself. The general dining room, not far from the entrance hall, was currently packed to distraction with men, women, and children in various states of misery. Certain of the men were obviously dreadfully ill or missing limbs; the women were tired and forlorn, and some of the children had too few fingers. Even if there hadn’t been that awful lye on the air, they all would have still had trouble breathing, given the cramped confines and the sheer number of people about.
Though they were in a kind of dining hall, there was currently no food about—instead, most of the people had taken up places at the table or against the walls. All of them had rough hemp rope in their laps, which they were pulling apart strand by strand. The work was miserable-looking; many of the workers were bleeding from their hands, and had long since ceased to notice their injury.
The inmates of the workhouse—for they were clearly inmates, and not benevolent charity cases, as Dora had heard it told—all showed at least some interest in their group’s entrance. A few of them seemed to recognize Albert, for he got nods and murmurs in his direction. Soon, one of the inmates rose to his feet and disappeared down a hallway; he returned with a tall, pinched-looking fellow in somewhat better clothing, who shook Albert’s hand and led them out of the madness, towards a different wing of the facility. This area, though dark and dank, at least seemed somewhat quieter, since most of its inhabitants were stretched out weakly, two and three to each bed against the walls.
“We have some coughing, some vomiting, some simple lack of vigour,”
