Page 24 of An Unwitting Alliance
“Work is what the children need. It’s their only hope of leaving this place.”
Was it? Shouldn’t every child have an opportunity to go to school? It wasn’t the way of Society, but it ought to be. Tom stared at a small boy near him, his tanned clothes dirty from the workhouse’s lack of sanitation, and his tanned frame far thinner than any of the Vail children he had thought scrawny. The child’s hollow brown eyes were drawn up to Tom’s. The lad knew he was being examined, and his hands stilled on his work. Those eyes. Tom had never met another boy who reminded him more of Charley in his life. He could not look away. Charley had had blue eyes like Tom’s, but this child’s brown eyes were large—identical in size—and framed in long black lashes like Charley’s had been. The shape of the boy’s face was similar too.
Tom could imagine the children’s future here—nothing about which was desirable. He wanted to remove them all from this place and give them a fresh start.
The child next to him became curious and stopped his work as well, and Longbottom noticed. “Get back to work!” he growled, kicking a bag of wool next to him.
The children flinched and quickly resumed their tasks.
Longbottom and Tom retreated from the workroom. As they did, Tom dug a shilling from his waistcoat pocket and discreetly dropped it on top of the bag next to the little boy with the big brown eyes—the boy he’d felt an undeniable kinship with. He did not even look to see if his charity was appreciated.
He could not resurrect his lighthearted demeanor. He might not know how to interact with children, but a chord of sympathy struck deep inside of him, and the resonating vibrations had shaken him to the core.
“Other workers are made useful in the gardens or kitchens or help with cleaning throughout. They have to earn their keep. Even the lunatics.”
Tom nodded absently. The Rebels often spoke about the benefits of work and the purpose it gave a man. So many of the members of thetoncould benefit from an occasional day of hard labor. His own hands were far too soft, but he tried to make up for it on missions such as this.
Longbottom crossed his arms against himself. “We run a tight ship here, as you can see. I’m not surprised you’ve heard of me, once I think about it. Some of the other workhouses in the Leeds and Wakefield districts are a mite soft.”
Perfect. Tom knew whom to contact for ideas for improvement. “What of de uniforms? Dey ’ave several pairs?” At least those seemed warm and sturdy, if ill-fitted.
“Hardly.” Longbottom scoffed. “Those uniforms are my property. If they leave here without fetching the rags they came in with, I have them arrested for thieving or we provide hard labor much worse than this. But they rarely leave. This is better than being on the streets and starving.”
So the workhouse was not a prison by name, but it was very much one by nature. Tom’s mind reeled. This was not his first time seeing the poor or infirm, but a workhouse had the opportunity to offer bread, a roof, and most importantly, a bit of hope. Airewell’s workhouse was only suffocating.
He felt a tug on the back of his coat, and when he peered over his shoulder, he was surprised to see the little boy from the workroom.
“What are you doing out here?” Longbottom thundered.
“The mister dropped this.” The boy held out Tom’s shilling.
Tom would have chuckled with amusement at the boy’s mistake, but he was too worried about what Longbottom would do to him. “I think you may be right,” he said instead, fingering his pocket for show. “Indeed, I did drop it.” He hunkered down in front of the boy. “What is your name so I might reward your honesty?”
“Alan, sir. Alan Armaad Kelby. Your beard is funny.”
Cheeky little thing.
Longbottom growled. “You mean your name is Alan, the boy who is going to get a ripe beating if he does not get out of my sight this instant.”
Tom placed the shilling back in Alan’s small hand, unsurprised to find the little limb shaking. Real fear reflected in the boy’s eyes as he looked at Longbottom. The lad took two steps backward before bolting toward the children’s workroom.
Tom straightened and Longbottom gave him an annoyed glance. “Mr. Rossi, you shouldn’t have given him any money.”
“It cannot ’urt ’im.”
Longbottom smirked. “It’s a hierarchy here. The older children rule the younger ones. That coin will be gone in the hour, and Alan will suffer for it. It won’t be long before his bad manners will be beaten out of him.”
Had he no one to look after him? “Does ’e ’ave family ’ere?” The question slipped unbidden from Tom’s lips.
“His father was a naval officer and brought home a wife from the East Indies. His family put up with it until the officer died last year. First thing they did was turn out his wife and son. This one will be orphaned soon enough, as his mother hasn’t left the sickroom since she arrived.
“But we’ll make a man out of the boy yet. He might be small, but he knows how to work hard. Of course, it could be because he’s scared of what will happen if he does not.” Longbottom laughed, the sound grating on Tom’s nerves and causing the sickening sensation to spread.
There were many thriving businessmen from India in England and even more mixed marriages. Still, thetonheld strong prejudices.
When Tom said nothing, Longbottom took the opportunity to jaw at him again. “Let this be a lesson to you, Mr. Rossi. A hard hand and a strict schedule are the only way to keep any order. The less you know about their lives, the better. I know about Alan only because his story is well-known around here. Everyone loves to talk of scandal, even the poor.”
When they arrived back at Longbottom’s office, Tom forced a congenial thank-you for the tour, smothering his disgust for the man until he recovered Zeus from the alley. He removed his itchy beard and tucked his disguise back into his saddlebags. It was hard not to feel defeated in his mission already. Longbottom deserved to be shipped off to New South Wales with the other criminals.
