Page 34 of The Duke's Bride in Disguise
"Which way?" Raff questioned Lady Emily, once both women were on firm ground.
"This way," Emily said, an almost frightened expression upon her beautiful face as she led Raff toward the front door of the orphanage. Before she had even pulled the bell, the door was thrown open by a pleasantly plump woman, who wore a starched white cap upon her head.
"Good afternoon," Raff said evenly, to the confused woman, who he assumed must be the matron, "We are here with a donation of some clothes for the girls."
"Of course," the woman gave a hurried curtsy. Raff knew that she had no idea who he was, but that she could probably guess from his clothes alone that he was of the quality.
"I am Kilbride," Raff said, as the woman ushered the trio inside, "And this is Lady Emily Fairfax."
"Your Grace," though the woman had not recognised him, she certainly recognised the name, "My Lady...My goodness. How good of you both to call. I am Mrs Raab, the matron of the asylum. I am delighted to have you both here."
"The pleasure is all ours," Raff replied smoothly, well aware that when one added even a smidgen of charm to the title of duke, women went weak at the knees.
"Oh," Mrs Raab flushed, her round cheeks resembling rosy apples, "You are too kind. Come—I will have someone fetch tea for you both."
The matron ushered the trio down a long, dark corridor, so silent that their footsteps echoed loudly upon the flagstone tiles. Raff frowned; was it usual for an orphanage to be so quiet? Surely the girls were as loud and boisterous as other children?
Mrs Raab led them into a small office, where a cheerful fire burned in the grate. The room, Mrs Raab proudly confided, also served as her own personal parlour room, and Raff observed that, indeed, the room looked more suited to receiving guests than carrying out any work. Beside the fireplace were two overstuffed armchairs, a small settee, and a drinks cabinet. On the other side of the room was a large oak desk and a wall filled with ledgers. That Mrs Raab did little work at the desk was evidenced by the fact that it was covered with tiny porcelain ornaments.
"My collection," the matron said proudly, as she caught Raff's incredulous stare, "I'm rather fond of birds, as you can see."
"Indeed."
Mrs Raab pulled the bell by the door and, in an instant, a young girl, dressed in the drab grey uniform of the asylum materialised.
"Tea for my guests, Nancy," Mrs Raab said, without looking at poor Nancy, "And tell the cook to send the good biscuits."
"Oh, don't waste the good biscuits on us," Raff said, with a self-deprecating smile that sent Mrs Raab into a girlish giggle.
"My goodness, Your Grace," she simpered, "If we don't offer the good biscuits to a duke, then who will we offer them to?"
The waif-like Nancy rather looked like she could use a biscuit or two, Raff thought dourly, though he said nothing, and merely took a seat beside the fireplace. He glanced at Emily, who had been silent since their arrival, and saw that she was as pale as a ghost. Her skin, usually a becoming mix of peaches and cream, was now as grey as Nancy's drab uniform.
"Are you feeling alright?" Raff whispered with concern.
"Perfectly fine," Lady Emily replied, straightening her posture and drawing an inscrutable mask over her features. She turned away from Raff, and addressed the matron; "Tell me, Mrs Raab, about your work here. I would like to know how your establishment cares for its girls."
And so, Mrs Raab launched into a long, detailed explanation of the Asylum's work, which was only interrupted by the arrival of the tea.
"And what would you do, should a girl one day decide she wishes to find her parents?" Emily asked, once the tea had been served.
Raff, who had been subtly pretending to drink his tar-like tea, looked up with interest at the query.
"Well," Mrs Raab looked flustered, "We don't get many girls asking about that..."
"But, if they were to ask, I assume you would have a record somewhere?" Emily probed.
Mrs Raab nodded and waved a pudgy hand toward the back wall, where hundreds of ledgers sat upon the shelves.
"Of course," she said, rather waspishly, "We keep excellent records, my Lady."
"I'm sure you do," Raff interjected smoothly, sensing that, inadvertently, Lady Emily had insulted the matron. "I would like—once we have all finished this marvellous tea—to see more of the building, if it's possible. I know you must be very busy, and would hate to intrude upon your time."
"Not at all, your Grace," Mrs Raab replied, turning her attention back to Raff with a smile.
And so, once Raff had swallowed his terrible tea, and politely eaten two of the "good biscuits"—which, he thought, were actually the worst biscuits he had ever had—Mrs Raab led the trio on a tour of the Asylum.
"This is the room where the girls learn practical skills," Mrs Raab whispered, as she opened the door of a vast room in which at least two dozen girls sat, hunched over tables, squinting against the dimness.
